The Misplaced Mystic
by HoopBanana
Summary: Oh no! It's another one of those girl-falls-into-fandom stories! Please give this one a read, it's not as bad as it sounds!
1. Of Pentacles and Suspicious Sicilians

The Misplaced Mystic

Chapter the First: Of Pentacles and Suspicious Sicilians

**Author's Note: I have only seen one other story of this type in this fandom, so I thought I'd have a bash at writing one for the pure entertainment of myself. I do have too much free time, yes. Anyway, it is slightly cliché, but stories of this type are very hard to write otherwise. I hope you enjoy it, and feedback is very much appreciated. Thank you for your time.**

Collapsing onto my bed, completely exhausted, I reached for the bar of delicious Galaxy chocolate I had to hand and took a bite. The perfect end to the perfect day.

My sister and I had been shopping all day, her indulging herself with clothes and make up, me only buying a necklace and a belt for myself from the shopping centre's only gothic emporium, Lavish. I delved around in a black plastic carrier bag for my purchases, admiring them for what must have been the thousandth time.

The necklace was more of a pendant, a simple pentacle, (a five pointed star with its lines conjoined, surrounded by a circle) on a long silver chain. I put it on, and the pendant hung all the way down my chest, almost to my navel. This was my new favourite piece of jewellery.

The day only got better. Moments later, my mother walked into the room holding a package that had come for me mail-order. I jumped up in excitement; I knew what this must be. Unwrapping the package, I found my suspicions to be true; it was a copy of the abridged version of _The Princess Bride_ by William Goldman. I was over the moon by this, having loved the film. I opened to the first page, beginning to read, but my mother butted in, saying that it was my bedtime, and I should sleep because I had a dentist's appointment the next morning.

Talk about ruining my good mood! I begrudgingly put down the book, and made for my dressing table to store the pendant away as my mother left the room.

"Hello," said a voice from behind me, making me jump. I turned around. A woman was stood on my rug, the epitome of a Goth. She looked oddly familiar; I wondered where I'd seen her before. Then it hit me. She was the sales assistant from Lavish, the one that had sold me my items. She wasn't alone. A man, tall, strong and muscled stood by her side. He wore a stony expression. He wasn't someone I wanted to mess with.

"We've caught you," she continued, her voice silky, her lips, painted black, curving upward into a smile, revealing impossibly white teeth.

"Caught me?" I squeaked. "Was I supposed to be running?" I didn't like how scared and weak I sounded.

She looked unimpressed by my feeble attempt at humour and stepped towards me. I restrained myself from stepping back, trying to retain what little dignity I had left. That little remaining dignity was also ripped from me when she took another step towards me and I started to tremble. "You didn't pay," she said simply, reaching out to me and touching the pentacle around my neck.

Now I looked confused. "Yes I did," I said indignantly, despite my fear. "I have the receipt and everything."

The man behind this strange woman walked across my room to the Lavish carrier bag on my bed. The woman hissed at him in a warning tone.

"Don't, Ethan!" He ignored her. He looked inside it and found the receipt. After inspecting it, he declared, "Everything seems to be in order. I think we've got the wrong girl, Jocelyn."

Jocelyn's dark eyes stared into mine. "No, it's her all right," she said. There was something in her eyes that wasn't human, wasn't normal. "Tell me, girl, how many of these pentacle pendants were there in this shop when you bought yours?"

I stumbled for a moment, and then I remembered. "This was the only one left. It had a price tag on it and everything. You let me buy it, don't you remember?"

Her expression turned from cool contempt to blistering anger. "Where I come from, there are punishments for liars! There are also penalties for people who mess with magic and don't know what they are doing!"

I was so frightened just then that if I was wearing boots, I would have been quaking in them. "Wh-what? M-m-magic?"

She seemed to get even more enraged, if that was possible. "Yes, you insolent girl! Magic! Don't you know what a pentacle is?"

"Y-yes, I do…" I thought for a moment. "It's a symbol of Hygeia, the goddess of health, and it also symbolizes harmony between body and mind."

She seemed surprised, almost impressed, that I knew this. That struck me as weird; I thought most people knew this. Suddenly, without warning, her face hardened once again as she drawled, "I've had enough of this. Thieves and know-it-alls alike are vermin I would like the earth to be rid of! You like to toy with magic? Well, let me show you what happens when you do!"

Ethan was now stood behind us, looking like he didn't at all approve of the situation but was powerless to do anything to stop it. I wondered why he, a big burly man, was afraid of this tiny little hellcat with a mouth bigger than Jupiter?

I wasn't aware of Jocelyn raising her arm to hit me, or indeed holding anything to knock me out with, but I have come to the conclusion that she must have hit me with something, for the next thing I knew I was out cold.

I don't know how long I spent there, drifting around in the darkest depths of my mind. I wondered if I was dead, in a coma, or just dreaming. It was weird; sometimes I would see lights twinkle above me, like stars, sometimes I saw comets, and at other times I saw the moon. It must have been hours later when I finally woke up, my head still too drowsy and stupid to realize things that I should have deduced in a second.

It started with a light, blue, shining down on me. It was blurry, and kept swirling before my eyes, as if I was drunk, but I had no recollection of drinking. I began moving upwards towards the light, wanting to find out what it was. Whatever was around me resisted my force slightly, but I pushed upwards with further diligence. I didn't know what I was doing. Was I flying?

It was getting harder to breathe. I realized that the force holding me back was water weighing down on me. Whatever Jocelyn had used to knock me out certainly had killed off a few brain cells. I swam towards what I could only assume was the surface with increasing desperation, my lungs crying out for oxygen.

When I finally reached the surface, taking in more air than I've ever breathed before, I realized I was definitely not in Rotherham anymore.

How did my thick sore brain figure that one out, you ask? Well, I appeared to be in some kind of ocean, and Rotherham is very clearly landlocked, even a fool like me could work that out.

I started to panic. This was nothing like what I had expected Jocelyn meant when she talked about spells. I looked around for anything that could help me before I drowned or froze to death.

Luckily, and this really is the luckiest thing that's ever happened to me, there was a small ship, or rather a boat, sailing nearby to me. I waved my arms as best I could without dragging myself under the water and shouted, "Hey! Hey! Help me!"

I struggled to swim towards the boat. As I started to move, I heard a shrieking starting up from somewhere under the water. That, understandably, did nothing to help my already shaky nerves and I swam with increased vigour towards the vessel.

The shrieking grew louder as I reached the boat. I tried fiercely to reach the side of the boat and haul myself aboard, but the edge was just out of my reach. "Help! Help me! _Help_!" I cried out, and finally, thankfully, someone did.

I heard an urgent male voice, deep and thick with a foreign accent, mumble, "The eels! Quick!"

I heard someone else say something in protest, but mercifully the man didn't listen to him. I saw a gigantic face loom over the side of the boat and look down at me. The shrieking reached fever pitch and I saw long, slender black eels with razor-sharp teeth swirl about me.

The large man reached out for my arm and dragged the grateful me out of the eel-infested water before promptly plonking me down on the hard deck floor.

"Thank you, thank you so much..." I gasped between breaths.

"Don't mention it," said the man, who was even larger than he had seemed from my previous view in the water.

Relief flooded my body. I was safe.

No sooner had that thought entered my head than someone was pointing a knife at my neck.

"Oy! I just rescued that!" My large rescuer complained.

"She's seen us with the princess, she must be killed," the other man said. He was considerably smaller than my giant saviour, with balding hair and evil little eyes. I already loathed him, which was quite understandable judging by the fact that he was threatening to slit my throat.

"What princess?" I asked. This was mightily odd.

"Don't ask questions," the short bald man said. "Don't suppose it matters though, seeing as I'm about to kill you. The princess is Prince Humperdinck of Florin's bride, Buttercup. Where have you been hiding all your life to not know that?"

If I wasn't preoccupied by the fact that I was about to die, I might have realized then that they were talking about fictional characters from _The Princess Bride_ as if they were real, living people.

"Don't kill me," I begged. "Please, please, don't kill me."

"Quit grovelling, miss," the evil man said, "You might as well go honourably."

I played with my pendant anxiously, waiting for the cold blade to penetrate my throat.

"Wait!" Called the voice of a third man, also foreign. I heard footsteps running towards me and the evil little man.

The newcomer elbowed my attacker out of the way (he objected profusely) and took the pendant from my hand.

"I know what she is!" He cried. "She can help us! Vizzini, can't you see?"

He waved the pendant in the man's face, nearly strangling me in the process, but I didn't care. Alarm bells were ringing in my head as details hit home. Vizzini? Prince Humperdinck? _Buttercup?_

I looked up at the sky. "Oh, Jocelyn, you have got to be kidding me," I said.

Vizzini raised an eyebrow. "Well, she seems not only to be insane but hallucinating too to me," he said. "How could this madwoman possibly help us?"

I decided it was best not to go mad at him for calling me a madwoman just then. He still had that knife, and it still looked pretty sharp.

"Can you not see she is a witch?"

This surprised me. I supposed I should have expected him to say that.

Vizzini was looking at me with renewed interest, but I, being me, of course, had to go and screw it up.

"A witch? I-I'm not a witch." The words had escaped my mouth before I'd had chance to stop them. If they believed I was a witch, they would do one of two things:

Ask me to help them by using magic (I'd fail completely, obviously.)

Kill me.

To be honest, neither of those looked too promising, but a) was definitely better than certain death.

"You're not, huh?" He looked between me and the man holding my pendant, who I knew to be Inigo Montoya. (Fan girl attack) "She is no use to us. Kill her."

"No – no!" I cried, stumbling over my words, trying to make amends for my blooper. "I-I'm not a witch – I'm a – I'm a – mystic!"

After a contemplative pause, Vizzini asked, "So you can see the future?" His cunning dark pupils studied my face. I could only hope I looked truthful.

"Yes," I said, trying to sound confident.

"All right then," he said testily. "Predict something for me."

"Anything?" I queried.

"Anything, but preferably something relevant to our mission."

I thought for a moment, then beckoned him towards me, "I don't want her to hear this, it might change things," I explained in a whisper. "The princess is going to try and escape the boat. She will jump overboard but be driven back by the eels. You have nothing to worry about for the time being."

"Hmm, interesting," he mused. "All right, I believe you. You're in."

I was delighted, but tried to look indifferent. "Remember, I cannot be one hundred percent accurate. The future changes with every decision you make."

He pretended not to hear me, turning to the other two. "All right then, this is the newest member of our little team, err…"

He wanted to know my name. Oh dear, oh dear, I thought. Think of a fake name, and fast!

"Isabel Maria Marrón," I said. Basically, it was my name, Liz Mary Brown, translated into Spanish. I quickly realized how stupid that was, owing to the fact that I was neither Spanish nor a Mary-Sue, and yet I had given myself a Spanish Mary-Sue name.

The others, barring Fezzik the giant, were also catching on to this.

Inigo looked at me in confusion. "You do not look like a Spaniard to me."

"That's because I'm not," I said quickly, trying to fix my second mistake. I had been here what, two minutes and already I was screwing up and making myself look like an idiot? "My mother was, and I was born in Spain. Then my English father took me to Florin where I grew up."

"All right, enough of the life story," said Vizzini impatiently, obviously believing my lies. "This is Inigo and this is Fezzik, and I am Vizzini," he gestured between them. I wanted to say, "I know," but for once I managed to restrain my unruly mouth. Vizzini dragged me across the deck next to a woman in a red gown, shoving me down onto the floor next to her. "And this is the Princess Buttercup, we're kidnapping her, blah blah blah…"

"Hi," I said to her, holding out my hand for her to shake. Might as well be polite, she looked scared out of her wits.

"Hello," she replied, shaking my hand.

"Well, I want you two to sit there nice and quiet and Isabel, if you "see" anything important, let us know," Vizzini finished, going to sit on the deck and lean on the mast. Fezzik leaned on the other side of the mast and dozed off. Inigo steered the ship, seemingly lost in his thoughts.

Buttercup looked very much like she didn't want to be quiet at all, but she shut up anyway and resorted to giving Vizzini filthy looks. I rolled my eyes when she wasn't looking.

I fiddled with my pentacle some more, wondering why Jocelyn had seemed so adamant that I had stolen it and also that I was an unworthy witch wannabe. I was not guilty of any of these accusations. I then pondered over why I was here. When she was talking about casting spells and messing with magic, I had thought she was going to torture me or hex me or give me eternal bad luck or something. I had not for a second thought that I would end up on a boat on an ocean between two countries that shouldn't even exist!

Maybe she was just bluffing. Maybe she had knocked me out with something and now I was dreaming. That seemed the most probable explanation. Jocelyn didn't look like a very good witch anyway. Sure, she fit the description, wild flyaway black hair, dark kohl-rimmed eyes, lacy gothic black clothing and silver jewellery, but that doesn't mean she is actually a witch. Most of those items can be purchased from any old costume dress shop!

Maybe she was trying to be a witch, but was terrible at it. Maybe when she saw me buying the pentacle, she assumed I was a witch too and out of jealousy she decided to try and frame me for stealing it and get me into to trouble. Maybe she had tried to hex me, but the spell had gone drastically wrong and she had sent me back here. That too seemed likely; she must have some kind of magical talent, how else would she and that brainless lump of muscle Ethan have ended up in my room without anyone seeing them or hearing them?

I was abruptly dragged out of my thoughts by Vizzini scolding Inigo for looking behind them and making him nervous.

I decided to try and get in Inigo's good books by "predicting" something.

"He is right," I said to Vizzini. "Something is there. A lone man on a boat."

Inigo smiled triumphantly, as if to say, 'See? I told you so!'

"What are his intentions?" Pressed Vizzini.

I decided it was best not to give everything away, as that might damage the plot. So, shaking my head, I said, "I cannot say for sure. He wears the black mask of a pirate or spy. He may be just an outcast sailor fishing, but that is unlikely in eel-infested waters. No, I suspect his intentions are less than favourable to us."

The three men leapt up from their stations and rushed to the stern of the boat to look out. I made myself usefully by steering the boat for them (even though I had no idea what I was doing) to prevent us from going off course.

Then I remembered Buttercup was about to make her escape.

"Vizzini…" I butted into his long "logical" explanation about pleasure cruises.

"Not now, Isabel!" He chided me.

"Please, it's really important…"

"I said, not now!"

Perfect, my plan was working!

"But-"

Vizzini had realized too late that when a "mystic" says something is important, it generally is. Buttercup had jumped off the side of the boat into the murky, deadly water, and was now swimming away at top speed.

The four of us clattered our way over to the side of the boat from which the princess had jumped. "I tried to warn you," I told him.

Vizzini gave me a look that said, 'Shut up or you'll be joining her.'

I said nothing more, and sat back to watch the eels do what they do best.

**Author's Note: Well, thank you for reading! Hopefully, if I have time, I shall update soon! Please review, it means a lot to me!**


	2. Of Eels and Men in Black

The Misplaced Mystic

Chapter the Second: Of Eels and Men in Black

**Author's Note: The second chapter is here! Thanks to for her wonderful review; I actually squee'd out loud when I read it, and yes, that line is very Princess Bride-ish. Thank you! To the rest of you that read but did not review: Thanks for reading! I love reviews though!**

Vizzini was livid. He whirled around to Inigo and screamed, "Go in! Get after her!"

"I don't swim," he replied. Poor Inigo, he looked so ashamed of this fact.

Vizzini turned on Fezzik, who quickly said, "I only dog paddle."

The small man then looked at me with desperation in his eyes. "I think I've had one too many encounters with flesh-eating eels for one day," I told him, but what I really wanted to say was, 'Go and get her yourself, you lazy cowardly buffoon!' But that might not have gone down well.

Looking very disappointed and more than a little annoyed, Vizzini yelled at Inigo, "Veer left! Left! Left!"

"Don't worry about it, Vizzini," I said coolly. "I've told you already. She'll be back. She'll have no choice once the eels turn up."

True to my words, an all-too-close wailing started up.

"Do you know what that sound is, Highness? Those are the shrieking eels – if you doubt me, just wait. They always grow louder when they're about to feed on human flesh." The words slipped off Vizzini's tongue smooth as silk, you could tell he enjoyed making her squirm with fright. "If you swim back now, I promise no harm will come to you. I doubt you'll get such an offer from the eels."

Buttercup did not look too intimidated at this point. How brave of her. Inigo steered the boat ever closer to her, but still she did not move. We were almost upon her when the huge black eel burst up on to the surface. I leapt back in fright; those things got much bigger and scarier every time I saw them!

Fezzik and Inigo looked at me with raised eyebrows. I smiled sheepishly. "Bad memories," I explained.

They nodded and turned their gazes back to Buttercup. Now she did look terrified, but was trying to hide it. Needless to say, she failed. Just as she was sure she was going to meet her end by the sharp teeth of the shrieking eels, Fezzik stepped forward, thumped the nearest eel on its head and plucked Buttercup out of the water.

"Put her down, just put her down," ordered Vizzini. His desire to be in control of everything was starting to get on my nerves. Nonetheless, Fezzik did as he was told and Vizzini started to fuss around the wet, bedraggled princess.

Inigo pointed back to the boat behind us. "I think he's getting closer," he said.

Vizzini was now tying Buttercup's hands together to prevent any further escape attempt. "He's no concern of ours," he said. Oh, how he couldn't be more wrong. "Sail on!"

Inigo looked at me as if for reassurance. I decided to play it cool here, so I shrugged at him.

"I suppose you think you're brave, don't you?" Vizzini said to Buttercup, who did not look the slightest bit concerned about being tied up.

She regarded him with a steely gaze. "Only compared to some," she parried.

I bit my lip and looked away, resisting the temptation to yell, 'You go, girl!' at the top of my voice. I can't help it, I just love that line so much!

The drama was over. Everyone settled down, except Inigo, who was still far too concerned with the pursuing boat. I was exhausted; I would have liked nothing more than to curl up in my bed with a large bar of chocolate, but Jocelyn had made sure that didn't happen.

Deciding to make the best of my situation I curled up at the stern of the boat and nearly froze to death. I hadn't realized how cold it was until I'd laid down still!

Noticing me shivering, Fezzik kindly donated a hessian sack for me to lie under. It didn't make a lot of difference, but I was grateful anyway.

My insomnia was a pain at the best of times, and it wasn't at all helped by being freezing cold on a boat in the middle of the ocean in a fictional universe. Not only did I have a lot to think about, but Inigo was sat in front of me steering the boat, and he kept looking back to check on the boat that was following us, and it was more than a little unnerving.

I thought again of how strange it was I had been brought here. Me, a twenty-three-year-old university student home for the holidays (still being controlled by obsessive parents) and terminally bored during the long break between university terms, brought into a fictional world of piracy and fencing?

I sighed and rolled onto my back to gaze at the stars, soothed by the feeling of the boat moving underneath me. It was going to be a long night.

I got up from under my sack at the crack of dawn. The sunrise was beautiful, glittering across the ocean like a million stars. It had been a long time since I had seen the sea.

I smiled as I looked at the other people on the boat. Vizzini slept with one eye open, a useful trick but still rather unsettling. Buttercup was still, quiet as a mouse, but her lips we slightly parted. She was obviously dreaming about Westley. Fezzik had spread himself over the bow of the ship, and was snoring loudly. How the others managed to sleep through it was beyond me. He looked rather a lot like a Labrador I'd once had: big, fat and drooling, but still rather endearing, in a strange way. Lastly, sweet Inigo had fallen asleep draped over the helm. How childlike and innocent humans look when they sleep.

It was Vizzini who woke first, and he quickly shook the others awake, scolding Inigo for 'sleeping on the job'. The poor soul looked exhausted, and I couldn't blame him.

After everyone was thoroughly awake, our attentions were turned to the boat which was so close now that Fezzik could have thrown us across to it.

"Look! He is right on top of us! I wonder if he is using the same wind we are using," Inigo pondered. I didn't think that should have been the first of his concerns.

"Whoever he is, he's too late," said Vizzini maliciously, pointing ahead of us to the dizzyingly high cliffs in front of us. "See? The Cliffs of Insanity!"

"I can see why they call it that," I remarked. Everyone ignored me.

The cliffs _were_ higher than any others I'd ever seen, and that was saying something, being the daughter of a rock-climbing instructor. I sat and admired them from my vantage point at the stern, trying to get my head around the sheer height of the things.

The race was on. The Man in Black was closing in on us for sure.

"Hurry up!" Vizzini was screeching at Inigo. "Move that thing! Um – that other thing! Move it!"

I laughed at him.

As Inigo steered the boat with more urgency than ever, it was the tightness of his trousers that I was struggling to get my head around. He must have noticed me looking, for he said, "Enjoying the view, miss?" with a laugh.

I directed my eyes to the cliffs, pretending to be looking anywhere other than where I had been previously. "Very much," I replied, trying to stay cool, but I could feel my cheeks blushing red.

The Man in Black was truly a skilled sailor, but our advantage was too great for him to match and we reached the cliffs with just enough time to harness ourselves to Fezzik and begin our ascent.

"We're safe – only Fezzik is strong enough to go up our way; he'll have to sail around for hours until he finds a harbour," Vizzini was saying as Fezzik and Inigo prepared for the climb.

The harness was a strange brown contraption made of leather. Fezzik put it on, and then Inigo set about strapping everybody into it, Buttercup first, then Vizzini, then me (I nearly died; I was being picked up by _Inigo Montoya!_) and finally he himself struggled into the harness as Fezzik pulled away from the ground up the rope leading to the top of cliffs, and then to Guilder and beyond.

The Man in Black leapt from his boat and began to pursue us up the rope with astonishing speed.

"He's climbing the rope," said Inigo, looking down. "And he's gaining on us."

"Inconceivable!" Shrieked Vizzini. He nudged Fezzik, who sped up. I smirked; I made me want to chuckle every time he used that word.

The Man in Black was gaining on us – and fast.

"Faster!" Vizzini nagged.

"I thought I was going faster," Fezzik whinged.

"You are supposed to be a colossus. You are a great legendary thing, and yet he gains." Vizzini was doing nothing to motivate his poor over-worked giant.

"Well, I'm carrying three people and he's only got himself," Fezzik made a valid point.

Vizzini, unable to think of a witty disparaging comeback, sufficed with saying, "I do not accept excuses." That was rich coming from him; he made enough of them! "I'm just going to have to find myself a new giant, that's all," he continued.

I snorted. Good luck with that!

Vizzini glared at me but said no more.

"Don't say that, Vizzini, please." Fezzik begged. His strength was faltering, and we were slowing down. The Man in Black grew ever nearer.

"Did I make it clear your job is at stake?" Vizzini just didn't know when to stop. Inigo and I exchanged glances, more worried about our necks than Fezzik's job.

After what seemed an eternity, we reached the top. Inigo climbed up first, (I am forever in debt to whoever designed those trousers) and dragged Buttercup up after him, dropping her onto the steps to the left of the rope. He helped Vizzini up next, who hopped off, quickly producing a knife and starting to saw away at the rope. He took my hand and helped me up next. I thanked him politely as he helped me gently to sit on the steps beside the exhausted Buttercup. This girl had clearly never been on a survival camp weekend with my father. Fezzik pulled himself onto the cliff-top, and then Vizzini had finally cut through the rope, which went sliding off the edge down the Cliffs of Insanity. I winced on behalf of the Man in Black, even though I knew he would survive.

I bit my lip in fake anxiety. "Don't look now…" I said.

Inigo and Fezzik proceeded to the cliff-edge nonetheless. I got up, wobbling slightly, and followed them. We looked down on the Man in Black, who was determinedly hanging on to the edge of the cliff.

"He has very good arms," said Fezzik, amazed.

Vizzini trotted over to us, awe written all over his face. "He didn't fall? Inconceivable!"

Inigo turned to him, slightly annoyed. "You keep using that word. I do not think it means what you think it means."

I tried to hold in a chuckle. Fortunately, nobody noticed.

"My God! He's climbing!" Inigo exclaimed, as dumbfounded as Vizzini.

Cogs ticked around in Vizzini's head. "Whoever he is, he has seen us with the princess and therefore must die," he said. Turning to Fezzik, he continued, "You, carry her." Fezzik did as he was told. "We'll head straight for the Guilder frontier," he told Inigo.

"Me included?" I asked, for clarification.

"You included," Vizzini confirmed. He spun back round to Inigo. "Catch up when he's dead. If he falls, fine, if not, the sword."

Inigo nodded, and then said. "I want to duel him left-handed."

I interjected. "I don't think that's a good idea…"

They both peered at me curiously. "Why, what have you seen?" Inigo asked me.

I shook my head. "Only that he is a great duellist. Take great care with him."

"I shall, Miss Isabel," he assured me, patting me on the arm comfortingly. "Do not worry."

Fezzik ambled over to us and said, "You be careful. People in masks cannot be trusted."

"Well said," I agreed.

"I'm waiting!" Vizzini called impatiently. I sighed as me and the princess-bearing Fezzik followed the hot-tempered Sicilian out across the hills.

I didn't like to leave Inigo, knowing what would happen. Fezzik noticed me looking subdued and asked, "He won't get hurt, will he, Isabel?"

"No, no, not injured at all. Just…temporarily delayed. We shouldn't worry about him." I reassured him. "Let's just concentrate on our mission."

**Author's Note: Reviews please?**


	3. Of Sea Chases and Dramatic Climbs

The Misplaced Mystic

Chapter the Third: Of Sea Chases and Dramatic Climbs

**Author's Note: I need more reviews! Thanks for reading, anyway. Enjoy!**

About ten minutes into our long walk I realized that if I went with Vizzini, Fezzik and Buttercup, I was almost one hundred percent certain to be killed or injured by the formidable Man in Black. This was not an appealing fate for me, and I had to get out of there fast. In my mind I played over the scene between Inigo and the Man in Black. Inigo should be knocked out by now. Using any ounce of dramatic talent I had, I gasped and feigned having a mystic vision.

Vizzini and Fezzik paused, peering curiously at me. "What have you seen?" The smallest of the pair asked.

"Inigo is having difficulties…" I said mysteriously.

"Inconceivable! Inigo is the best there is!" Vizzini exclaimed fervently.

"He requires assistance. One of us should go."

"Don't be silly, he'll be fine," Vizzini said flippantly, continuing up the rocky countryside track.

"Oh, so now _you _have been blessed with divine providence, have you?" I fumed in fake anger. "Who's the mystic here?"

Vizzini sighed. "Very well. Go and help the drunken idiot finish off this enigmatic masked man. Don't be long. Catch up later when you've killed the fool."

"…I have no weapons," I admitted, embarrassed.

The short king of strategy sighed. "Do I have to do everything for you people?" He ranted on in that fashion for a while, digging amongst his clothing for something sharp and dangerous. Eventually, he found the knife he had used earlier to slice through the rope on the cliff-top. Giving it to me, he said, "Right. You happy now? Get gone!"

I hurried off down the path up which we had just come. "I just hope I'm not too late…" I called cryptically as I went. Truth was, I knew that the Man in Black had already defeated Inigo and was coming up fast on the remaining party. I didn't really fancy bumping into him, so I ventured off the pathway and hid behind a boulder while I figured out what to do next.

I was safe from the Man in Black, for the time being, but I had no idea where I was supposed to go next. My best bet was to go to Florin and try to catch up with Fezzik or Inigo, but I had no idea how to get there. I decided to go and find Inigo, and go with him to Thieves' Forest.

As I hurried along, well away and out of view of the path, I really did hope I wasn't too late. If Inigo had woken up and gone off to Florin without me, well, I was mightily screwed.

It was a downhill run, and so it didn't take me long to reach the cliff-top once again. I encountered no problems (except a couple of hidden rabbit holes which caused my dozy self to trip and fall) and thankfully, when I got there, Inigo was still in la-la land.

He woke up a while later and stared at me groggily. I was playing with my new knife, scratching my new initials, I-M-M, into one of the rocks.

"Hello," I said. "You were knocked out by that stalker in black."

"My head," he moaned. It appeared I wasn't going to get any intelligent conversation out of him for a bit.

He watched, his eyes blurry and unfocused, as I etched the letters deeper and deeper into the rock. After a long time, it seemed he had collected himself, for he said, "So what do we do now?"

I shrugged. "I assumed you'd have a plan. I was just sent to make sure you defeated that man. I guess I was too late. At least you're alive."

"Ay, I suppose that is one thing in our favour, we're both alive," he paused for a moment, thoughtful. "Vizzini always said when a job went wrong we were to go back to beginning…"

"Where is the beginning?" I asked, although I already knew the answer.

"Florin," he said. "The Thieves' Forest."

"We get there by boat?" I questioned as I polished my blade on my shirt.

"Yes," he said, getting up. "But the more pressing matter is how we get to the boat." He walked to the edge of the cliff-top and looked over at the vertiginous drop.

I followed him, my heart pounding. I could be a complete wimp when it came to heights, but this was something new entirely. I wasn't so bad going up, it was going down that scared me.

Inigo turned to me. "Any ideas?"

I racked my brains. We had rope. I should know this! On one of my father's survival camps, we had to make Swiss Seat Rappel Harnesses from rope.

"Maybe we could make a harness from the rope," I said, going over to the rock. I got to work on my harness. After a few unsuccessful attempts, I got the hang of it and the harness looked reasonably secure.

Inigo gazed at my busy hands in wonder. "How do you know how to do that?" He asked.

"I learnt it once," I replied. "I can barely remember how, but it's the only hope we've got."

"That doesn't make me feel especially confident," he confessed. I smiled awkwardly. "We might as well try," he hastily amended.

I nodded. I decided it might be best to test my creation before unleashing it on the Cliffs of Insanity. I got Inigo to stand at the top of the castle ruins, holding onto a rope while I abseiled down. Fortunately, the harness held my weight, and I judged that Inigo did not weigh much more than me, so I assumed he'd be fine too.

A few minutes later I found myself stood at the edge of the opening to the deadly cliffs below. Inigo stood in front of me holding all that remained of the rope.

"You ready?" He asked.

I was pale, and my stomach was churning. "Not really," I admitted. "But there's no time like the present, I suppose." Putting on a brave face, I found a foothold in the cliff-face and started to slowly but surely inch my way down. Inigo held me secure.

I wasn't very skilled at abseiling; like my father, my strengths laid in caving, so it took a very long time for me to reach the bottom of the cliffs. Poor Inigo's arms must have been exhausted.

I climbed out of the harness and Inigo pulled the rope, harness attached back up to the top. I prepared the Man in Black's boat as best I could, knowing nothing about sailing other than what I'd seen on TV, as I watched the skinny Spaniard creep down the cliff.

When he landed on the platform beside the Man in Black's boat, it was almost ready to sail.

"There's no way that was supposed to work," he said.

I beamed at him. "Your lack of trust in me is astonishing," I said cheerfully. "We mystics generally know what will work and what won't."

After correcting all the mistakes I had made on board the boat, Inigo steered the stolen vessel away from the cliffs and out into the blue.

The sun was warm and I was relaxed, knowing that I didn't have to worry about anything until we reached Florin. Soon, without even realizing it, I was asleep.

I woke up and saw stars. The sky was indigo and stars studded it, twinkling like diamonds. I took in the sight, wishing I saw more stars at home, but pollution prevented that.

It was only then I realized I'd been asleep. Finally, my exhaustion had won out over the insomnia, but who knows when I'd next manage to drop off.

I sat up and saw that Inigo was fishing, having caught a couple of fish, while nursing a fire in a metal bucket.

Inigo looked at me. "Sleep well?"

"Best in ages," I said truthfully.

"It must be hard to rest if you are plagued by visions all the time," he sympathized.

"What? Oh – yes."

We ate the fish straight from the bone, and then I guarded the boat while Inigo slept. Staying up all night did have its benefits; maybe I could become permanently nocturnal. No, that wouldn't do – my skin would go horribly pale, I'd end up looking like a vampire!

I sailed on all through the night, and by the time dawn broke, Florin was in sight.

Inigo was still out for the count, so I had no choice but to wake him.

Shaking him gently on the shoulder, I coaxed, "Inigo, you have to get up now. We're almost here, and I can't dock by myself."

Grudgingly, Inigo dragged himself awake and helped me dock the boat at the same little jetty they had left from two days ago.

We walked together through the thick woods chatting about pleasant, normal, ordinary things, like the weather and the swiftness of the Man in Black's boat, until we reached Florin, and the Thieves' Forest, a lively village buzzing with all kinds of illegal activities.

It was pretty crowded there that day, and I had no idea where I was supposed to be going, and before knew it, I had lost sight of Inigo.

I was hopelessly lost in the middle of a village full of thieves, assassins and all manner of other criminals.

Just how do I manage to get myself into these situations?

**Author's Note: Just one little review…please?**


	4. Of Thieves and Drunken Spaniards

The Misplaced Mystic

Chapter the Fourth: Of Thieves and Drunken Spaniards

**Author's Note: I would like to thank for more reviews of awesomeness, and for pointing out a couple of my silly mistakes! I seriously love you, really, and also, I am, at the moment, about halfway through the book. I've been using an online script for the quotes, which is why there have been a couple of mistakes where I should have edited lines. Amazon also conned me, saying that the edition of the book that I ordered contained the sample chapter of **_**Buttercup's Baby**_**, and it didn't. Very annoyed about that. Anyway, I'll not keep you from our epic tale of fencing, true love, revenge and really tight trousers any longer! Read on!**

I looked all over – he couldn't have gone far. I asked a friendly-looking thug if he had seen a small, impossibly skinny Spaniard with a quicksilver blade. He said no, and promptly threw me in a ditch. How delightful of him. I picked myself up, dusted off the worst of the dirt and scolded myself, vowing not to be as naïve in this place again.

I was quickly deciding the Thieves' Forest wasn't the place for me. I wished I could find Inigo so Fezzik could hurry up and sweep us off to nice, civilised Florin in search of the six-fingered man so Inigo could have his long-awaited revenge.

I knew Inigo was a complete alcoholic, (give him a glass of wine or two and he's putty in your hands) and that if I didn't find him he would wind up passed out in some filthy tavern, stripped of anything valuable by thieves, but how many filthy taverns were there in the Forest? There was nothing I could do but search until we bumped into each other, but I had no idea where to start.

I ended up putting Vizzini's law into practise again. I went back to the beginning, (i.e. where I had been when I'd lost Inigo) and tried to put myself in his shoes. If I was an alcoholic fencing wizard being followed by an annoying 'mystic' girl, where would I hop off to?

This didn't quite work out, seeing as I didn't know my way around the Forest, so I went back to the original plan of aimlessly wandering around until I saw Inigo.

I diligently set about exploring the thriving village, but finding a lithe little Spaniard in a city full of rogues of all shapes and sizes was proving to be a lot like trying to find a needle in a haystack.

After a long time, I was reaching the point of desperation. What would I do if I could not find him? I knew no one else in this world, and I doubted anyone was likely to take in a fake mystic with a £2 pentacle necklace. I sat down despairingly on a conveniently placed crate and sunk into misery.

The next thing I knew – "Oi, wench, 'ow much?"

The man who had spoken was grubby, with mucky blonde hair and leering eyes. He looked twenty or so.

I blinked rapidly, waking up from my sorrowful thoughts. "What?"

"I said, 'ow much, come on now, I 'ant got all day."

"Wait, wait, _what_? Oh no, no, no, no. I am _not _what you think I am!" I exclaimed furiously.

"Well, 'ow's you afford that nice little bit of shine around your neck there?" He said, reaching out for my pentacle.

"It wasn't expensive!" I insisted truthfully.

The man looked at me doubtfully. "Then you won't miss it. I'll be taking it, then." He started to pull on the pendant.

"Get off me, you thief!" I cried, flapping uselessly at him. Strength and hand-to-hand combat were not my strong points. Yet another time my stupid mouth had got me into trouble.

He laughed. "Why d'you think they call this the Thieves' Forest, missus?" He continued to tug on the chain, which was now starting to dig into my neck badly. I was sure I was doomed to be robbed and beaten at the very least, when –

"Oi! You there! Get your hands of that lady!" I looked up the muddy street to see – who else – Inigo, standing there, brandishing his exquisite sword and looking most unimpressed with the dirty little robber attempting to steal my jewellery.

My attacker quickly pulled me to him, holding a long knife to my throat.

"You want to see her dead, huh?" He hissed at Inigo, who looked crestfallen. "No? Well, put away your weapon then."

"I don't want no trouble," Inigo said, sheathing his sword, raising his hands and taking a step forward.

The man shoved the point of his knife closer to my neck. I tried not to flinch.

"Stop walking or she dies," the robber said, practically stabbing me in the neck with the knife.

Inigo immediately halted. "Can we not come to some arrangement?"

The man paused, pretending to think. "Nope," he said, and resumed threatening my life.

It seemed I was about to die, for the second time that week.

So, I did what anyone in my situation would do.

I booted him right where it hurts most.

This robber was obviously very inept, because just one simple well-aimed kick had him bent over with pain, unable to even hold a knife to a hostage's throat. Inigo and I made our escape down a back alley.

"I got lost," I explained.

"Yes," he said, looking around disdainfully. "I thought as much. I hate this place."

"Can't say I fancy shacking up here," I agreed, frowning at the dilapidated buildings.

"So what do we do now?" he asked.

I thought back to my university days. "We do what anyone in our situation would do," I said.

"And what's that?"

"Get blind stinking drunk."

It was amazing what a few bottles of brandy could do to a man, I thought as I sat on the step of a wrecked building on the outskirts of the Thieves' Forest, many hours later. Fezzik was taking his time in coming, and Inigo was already ridiculously inebriated. I, too, was not in as good a condition as I would have liked. At first, I had been determined to not drink, and simply guard Inigo until Fezzik came to rescue us. Then, boredom had set in. Sitting around and watching a Spaniard drink himself into oblivion was not the most interesting of pastimes, and before I knew it I was joining Inigo on his little traipses to the tavern, and purchasing my own brandy.

Inigo had taken to talking to himself. I watched him with the expression of a curious monkey, swigging brandy all the while.

"We are waiting for you, Vizzini," he was saying, his words almost drowned by his drunken slur. "You told us to go back to the beginning. So we have. This is where we are, and this is where we will stay. We will not be moved."

"I'll drink to that!" I cried cheerily, raising my brandy bottle to the sky, before bringing it down for yet another deep slurp.

Suddenly, a brute with long greasy black hair came around the side of the building into our view. I regarded him with a look of disgust. "Ho there," he said.

"We do not budge. Keep your "Ho there"," Inigo reprimanded him. I snorted, once again gulping down brandy.

"But the Prince gave orders-" The yucky brute insisted, before Inigo interrupted.

He leapt forward, wielding his deadly sword. "So did Vizzini. When a job went wrong, you went back to the beginning, and this is where I got the job, so it's the beginning, and we're staying until Vizzini comes."

The brute pointed at someone behind us. "You! Brute! Come here!" He called.

"We are waiting for Vizzini," Inigo said slowly, enunciating every letter, as if he was teaching a toddler to spell his name.

"You surely are a meanie," came a voice.

Fezzik ambled slowly over to us and picked up Inigo by the back of his shirt. They squinted at each other, remembering their faces.

"Hello," said Fezzik.

"It's you," Inigo said, looking as if Christmas had come early.

"True," Fezzik rhymed. I rolled my eyes, guzzling down the last of my brandy. It was like a reunion in a bad chick flick, but with more alcohol and less tonsil tennis.

The dirty brute approached, club at the ready, ready to beat Inigo to high heaven. I, seeing my chance to earn myself some more Brownie points, helpfully whacked him over the head with my now-empty brandy bottle. He collapsed to the floor unconscious, as was my aim.

Fezzik saw me for the first time. "Hello, Isabel," he said.

"Hello," I replied, stumbling over the word.

"Are you drunk?" he asked. "Goodness, lady, I would have thought you'd have had more sense." He now sounded like a patronizing parent, and I didn't like it, so I played the all-knowing mystic card one more time.

"I knew you were coming," I slurred.

Fezzik turned back to Inigo. "You don't look too good either," he said. "And you smell even worse."

"Perhaps so. I feel fine." Inigo smiled weakly.

"Yeah?" said Fezzik, releasing Inigo from his grasp. The Spaniard promptly fainted, falling face-first into the ground. I sniggered and stood up, showing that silly drunk fool how it should be done. Then, of course, I fainted too.

When I came to, I was lying on the floor of a mucky alehouse in the Thieves' Forest, and my head hurt like a mother. Two men were sat at a table, one lithe, one large. It took me a moment to remember who they were and where I was. When I did, I called out, "Help me up!" but all that came out was "Mel de hup!" which made absolutely no sense to me nor Inigo and Fezzik.

Nonetheless, the gentle giant lifted me carefully off the ground and placed me softly into a chair. He placed a bowl full of stew in front of me. I gazed down at it blearily. It was orange and yellow and shockingly resembled vomit. I turned my eyes up towards Fezzik. "If you think I'm eating that garbage you've got another think coming," I told him. I wasn't a lot of fun to be around on a post-booze-up morning.

Fezzik rolled his eyes and shook his head the way parents do when they think you're being ungrateful. He sat down at the table and started to spoon-feed Inigo, telling him of the news about Count Rugen being the six-fingered man and Vizzini's rather inconvenient demise. Inigo handled the news pretty well, I figured, seeing as instead of getting angry and storming about, he just face-planted into his stew.

I slumped over the table and fell asleep. When I woke up, Fezzik was dunking Inigo's head in water, alternating between a barrel of steaming water and a barrel of cold water. When Inigo was fully sober, he pulled himself out of Fezzik's gargantuan grasp and cried, "That's enough! That's enough! Where is this Rugen so I can kill him?"

"You don't mess around do you?" I quipped, having recovered slightly from my hangover.

The two men ignored me. "He's in the castle with the Prince, but the castle is guarded by thirty men."

"How many could you handle?" Inigo asked him.

"I don't think more than ten." Fezzik said sadly.

The Spaniard turned to me. "How about you?"

I shook my head despairingly. "I'm a useless fighter," I admitted. "I don't know if I could beat one."

"That leaves about twenty for me," Inigo said, after counting on his fingers for a while. "At my best I could never defeat that many." He sat down on a chair, deep in thought. "I need Vizzini to plan," he continued. "I've no head for strategy." Neither of us did, either.

"But Vizzini's dead," said Fezzik, newly-crowned King of Stating the Obvious.

The three of us sat together, silent for a while, gloom heavy in the air, but I was remarkably cheerful, for of course, I knew all was not lost.

Inigo suddenly looked enlightened. "No, not Vizzini, the Man in Black!" he exclaimed.

"Bingo," I said, and of course, that confused them, because this was before bingo.

"What?" said Fezzik, stumped.

"He bested you with strength, he bested me with steel, he must have outthought Vizzini, and a man who can do all that can plan my castle's onslaught any day. Let's go!" He was jubilant with hope. It made me happy to see him so joyous, so I stood up, ready to set off in pursuit of this enigmatic Man in Black.

"Where?" asked Fezzik, ever the puzzled one.

"To find the Man in Black, obviously." The Spaniard answered.

"But you don't know where he is." King Obvious struck again.

"That's what we have her for!" He pointed at me. I looked up with the expression of a deer in headlights.

"I've never been to Florin before," I squeaked shyly.

"I thought you were brought up here?" Inigo replied, raising an eyebrow.

Oh dear. Look what I had done now.

"Er – er – I was, but not in Florin City. I'm a country girl." I babbled, pleading to the Gods above that they would believe my terrible lie.

Fortunately, they did.

"No matter, I will show you around. My ventures have led me many times to these parts…" Inigo said enigmatically, leading us out the door.

After a minute of walking in no particular direction, he asked, "Any ideas yet?"

I breathed in deeply, putting on my best meditative face. "I see…chains."

"Chains?"

"He's in a pit. A pit of… doom? Desperation? No, no… despair! The Pit of Despair!" I cried, hoping my acting was convincing.

"A pit? Underground?"

I nodded.

"That only makes it more difficult. How are we to find somewhere underground?" Inigo didn't look pleased with me.

I looked hurt. "I can only tell what I see," I said.

"You're right, you're right, I'm sorry." He apologized. I nodded, all was well.

We strolled on through the Thieves' Forest towards Florin City. It was when we were making our way through the Forest's busy courtyard that the terrible scream started up.

We stopped in our tracks. If Inigo was a cat, his ears would have pricked up. "Fezzik, Isabel, listen, listen, do you hear?"

Fezzik nodded, and I said, "I hear and I see," shuddering for effect.

Inigo looked at me sympathetically. "That bad, huh?"

I nodded stiffly, pretending to look tortured.

"That is the sound of ultimate suffering – is it not, Isabel?" Inigo continued. I nodded again. "My heart made that sound when Rugen slaughtered my father. The Man in Black makes it now."

"The Man in Black?" Fezzik questioned, confused again.

"His true love is marrying another tonight, so who else has cause for ultimate suffering?" Inigo asked, not expecting an answer. He tried to push through the crowd towards the origin of the sound, but people were not willing to go out of their way to let a skinny foreign bloke through. "Excuse me," he said to washerwoman who was obstructing his path. He turned to Fezzik and I, who were following close behind him. "It's too crowded."

"You don't need psychic intuition to figure that one out," I quipped, still grouchy. The bustling noise of the courtyard was reviving my headache.

Inigo ignored my stinging comment, continuing to try to push his way through the crowd. "Pardon me, it's important," he said to another civilian. He turned to Fezzik, his eyes large and pleading. "Fezzik, please…"

"Everybody MOVE!" The giant roared across the courtyard. The quietened, suitably intimidated citizens shuffled out of the way. Inigo strode purposefully through the parted crowd, looking like Moses having just parted the seas. "Thank you," he said to Fezzik, and the three of us made our way towards the fading sound of the Man in Black's scream.

**Author's Note: I know! I know! Ridiculously long update gap! The two horrors of my life, writer's block and school, have come at the same time and made writing this chapter unbearably difficult. Anyway, sorry about that! Please review!**


	5. Of Miracle Men & Chocolate Coated Pills

The Misplaced Mystic

Chapter the Fifth: Of Miracle Men and Chocolate Coated Pills

**Author's Note: I know, I know, I know! It's taken ages! There's good news though! My muse is back from wherever it went - bringing motivation with it.**

We continued to track the anguished scream. Fezzik and I followed Inigo blindly as he nipped nimbly between houses and down alleyways until we found ourselves, as I knew we would, in a wooded clearing.

"The sound is gone. What do we do now?" Inigo sounded close to despair.

I looked at him, serene and mysterious as ever. "We wait."

"That is all you have for me? We wait? The man who killed my father is so near I can almost smell him and now you are telling me to wait?" Inigo was angry at me and I had no idea why.

"Kindly shut up," I told him, shocked at how rude I was being. "I don't have to be helping you. In fact, I could be halfway to Spain by now had I not stayed to help you guys. So unless you want me to shove off and leave you guys to try and find the Pit of Despair without me, you can start listening to me. I'm the one with the psychic powers, I know what's going to happen, so you can blooming wait!" I don't know why I was so angry either.

Inigo looked suitably chastised. "I'm sorry, Isabel."

I nodded. "Apology accepted. Now, ssh."

We could hear the stiff creak of wooden wheels turning coming towards us. A stout albino with the expression of a confused basset hound trundled into sight, pushing an aged wheelbarrow.

Quick as a flash, Inigo's sword was pointing at his heart.

"Where is the Man in Black?" he demanded.

The albino shook his head, his basset hound eyes looking very intimidated. I felt quite sorry for the poor soul; he was only doing his job.

"You get there from this grove, yes?"

The albino said nothing.

"Fezzik, jog his memory," Inigo ordered.

Fezzik raised his great arm and struck down on the poor albino's head. For a moment he looked very much like an overexcited puppy before he fell to the ground, unconscious.

Fezzik apologized profusely, but Inigo did not seem to care. He was knelt down on the floor with his sword raised and his eyes closed.

"Father," he whispered, his tone somewhere between a gasp and a prayer. "I have failed you for twenty years. Now our suffering can end. Somewhere… somewhere close by is a man who can help us. I cannot find him alone. I need you. I need you to guide my sword. Please." Now he rose and moved around the clearing in an almost ethereal way. "Guide my sword," he repeated, and just as Fezzik was beginning to think him mad –

His sword dug straight into the middle of a knot on the biggest tree in the clearing.

Inigo opened his eyes. A moment of expectation, and –

Nothing.

Inigo collapsed against the tree and buried his face in his arms. He looked so sad that I wanted to go and wrap my arms around him, but I knew his despair wouldn't last for long…

For now there was an eerie creek and a part of the tree opened inwards to reveal a secret staircase.

Inigo looked at me incredulously. "You had nothing to do with this?"

I shook my head, beaming proudly at him.

"You're sure?"

"Quite," I replied.

I could tell he didn't quite believe me, for he held my gaze longer than necessary before he tore his eyes away from mine and started off down the stairs. Fezzik and I followed, hope reignited in our hearts.

A few minutes, and what seemed like a million stairs later, we reached the bottom of the Pit. If it was possible, it looked even creepier in 'real' life.

My hand flew to my mouth as I saw Westley's body lying there, dead, well, _almost_ as dead as a dodo. The three of us walked over to it, our heads bowed in sadness. Inigo looked despairing, his shoulders sagged, and his eyes were fixed on Westley's frozen features, big and despondent. For the second time in about ten minutes I was sorely tempted to hug him.

After a moment, he said, "Well, we Montoyas have never taken defeat easily. Come along, you two. Fezzik, bring the body." Hope was starting to grow in his voice. I was glad. I wasn't sure how much more sadness I could take from my companions. He started to walk back towards the exit of the Pit.

Fezzik was looking at his Spanish friend with alarm, or maybe he was just being dense, as usual. "The body?"

"Yes, you know, the physical structure and material substance of an animal, living or dead," I said sarcastically.

Inigo did not stop his march. "Do you have any money?" he asked.

"A little," said Fezzik.

"And you?" Inquired Inigo to me.

I knew I had none, but I pretended to search my pockets anyway. Finding none, I said, "Dang it! That no-good thief has stolen mine."

The Spaniard turned back to Fezzik. "I just hope it's enough to buy a miracle, that's all."

The sun was halfway through its journey to the void behind the horizon by the time we reached Miracle Max's shack. Inigo knocked on the door loudly.

The hostile voice of the man himself responded, "Go away!"

Inigo knocked again resiliently.

A small panel opened in the door and the wrinkled visage of Miracle Max peered out. "What? What?"

"Are you the Miracle Max who worked for the King all these years?" Inigo asked him.

"The King's stinking son fired me and thank you so much for bringing up such a painful subject. While you're at it, why don't you give me a nice paper cut and pour lemon juice on it? We're closed!" The angry little man slammed the panel shut with more ferocity than was necessary.

"Somebody forgot their happy pills this morning," I mumbled.

"I heard that!" Squeaked Max.

Once again, my Spanish friend rapped on the door. The panel in the door reopened. "Beat it or I call the Brute Squad!" He threatened.

"I'm on the Brute Squad," replied Fezzik.

"You _are_ the Brute Squad," said Max bitingly, taking in Fezzik's great size.

"We need a miracle," interjected Inigo before Fezzik could respond. "It's very important."

"Look, I'm retired, and why would you want someone the King's stinking son fired? I might kill whoever you wanted me to miracle!" I wondered why he was so desperate to turn away good business.

"He's already dead," said Inigo shortly, looking rather satisfied with himself.

The 'retired' miracle worker looked interested for the first time. "He is, eh? I'll take a look. Bring him in."

I heard the sliding of a rusty latch and the door creaked open. Fezzik carried in our mostly-dead friend and laid him out delicately on Max's table.

Max lifted Westley's hand as high as it would go and then released it, letting it fall to the table with a thump. "I've seen worse," he remarked. We didn't doubt him.

He examined Westley with peaked curiosity, poking and prodding him here and there. Inigo interrupted his careful studying.

"Sir, sir."

"Hah?" Max looked up at him irritably.

"We're really in a terrible hurry."

"Don't rush me, sonny. You rush a miracle man, you get rotten miracles. You got money?" I could see the gold glittering in his wrinkled eyes now. I sighed sadly. What was it about money that drove everybody so insane? I had always had trouble grasping that.

"Sixty-five," said Inigo, as if it was a respectable amount. I knew nothing about Florinese currency, so I kept quiet.

"Sheesh!" He flapped his hand as if it were pocket change. "I've never worked for so little. Except once, and that was a very noble cause."

"This is noble, sir," Inigo put on his most sombre face and regarded the shrivelled miracle man with his big, beautiful puppy dog eyes. He gestured in Westley's direction. "His wife is crippled. His children are on the brink of starvation."

"Are you a rotten liar!" said Max incredulously.

"I need him to help avenge my father, murdered these twenty years." Inigo admitted.

Max still didn't buy it. "Your first story was better." He scanned the room for something. "Where's that bellows?" He asked himself. Then, after he'd found it, "He probably owes you money, huh? Well, I'll ask him."

Inigo looked utterly bewildered. "He's dead. He can't talk." I found myself restraining a titter.

"Look who knows so much!" Max sneered sarcastically. "Well, it just so happens that your friend here is only _mostly_ dead. There's a big difference between mostly dead and all dead. Please open his mouth."

Inigo stepped forward and did as he was told. Max put the long, slender, spiky end of the bellows into Westley's now-opened mouth and began to slowly push air in and out of his lungs.

"Now, mostly dead is slightly alive. Now, all dead… well, with all dead there's usually only one thing you can do." Max's eyes glistened with the anticipation of a punch-line.

"What's that?" Inigo asked, genuinely curious.

"Go through his clothes and look for loose change." I was suddenly reminded of how stony broke I was, and was strangely tempted to follow Max's advice, even though Westley clearly not [quite] dead.

Miracle Max leant over Westley's still frame and called as if to somebody very far away, "Hey! Hello in there! Hey! What's so important? What you got here, that's worth living for."

He pushed down lightly on Westley's chest, and suddenly a low, gasping sound came out. "Truuuuuuu luvvv…"

We all stared at the now-alive figure. Even though I knew it was going to happen, Max's miracles were still pretty astonishing.

He smiled at us all as if to say, _I told you I'm good, ain't I?_

"True love. You heard him. You cannot ask for a more noble cause than that."

I sighed despondently. "I'll say," I murmured without even being conscious of it. Max and Inigo regarded me curiously, before continuing:

"Sonny, true love is the greatest thing in the world, except for a nice MLT, a mutton, lettuce and tomato sandwich where the mutton is nice and lean and the tomato is ripe. They're so perky, I love that, but that's not what he said. He distinctly said "to blave" and, as we all know, "to blave" means to bluff. So, you're probably playing cards and he cheated –" Max was cut off suddenly by the entrance of an equally wrinkled woman with flyaway white hair and a voice like a screeching eagle.

"LIAR! LI-I-I-AR!" She screeched, hurrying up to Max with the agility of a much younger woman.

"Get back, witch!" Cried Max, flapping at her.

"I'm not a witch, I'm your wife, but after what you just said I'm not sure I even want to be that anymore!" I'd never seen such a picture of fury, and had no desire to ever again.

"You never had it so good."

"'True love.' He said 'True love,' Max! My God-" She was cut off by Max's retort.

"Don't say another word, Valerie." He hissed at her, but she took no notice.

"He's afraid. Ever since Prince Humperdinck fired him, his confidence is shattered," she accused.

"Why'd you say that name – you promised me that you would never say that name-?" Max suddenly seemed every bit of his age.

"What, Humperdinck? Humperdinck, Humperdinck, Ooh, Humperdinck!" Valerie taunted her husband, following him about the shack. The three of us stood feeling very uncomfortable.

"I'm not listening!" Max insisted, covering his ears, and yet he still cringed whenever Valerie spoke the Prince's name.

"A life expiring and you don't even have the decency to say why you won't help-" Max cut her off.

"Nobody's hearing nothing!" By gum, his grammar was appalling.

"Humperdinck, Humperdinck, Humperdinck!" Valerie continued, seeming to take great delight in her husband's discomfort.

Finally, the wonderful Mr. Montoya saved us. "But this is Buttercup's true love – if you heal him, you will stop the wedding."

"Humperdinck, Humperdinck-" Valerie chattered on, and Max wasn't the only one fed up of her babbling.

"Shut up," he told her, and I was glad he did it before I'd had chance to. "Wait, wait, I make him better, Humperdinck suffers?"

Inigo leaned towards the warped old figure. "Humiliations galore," He drawled, wicked delight sparkling in his eyes. I smiled to myself; I loved the devious manipulative side of him.

Old Max laughed, a curious sound somewhere between a chuckle and a cackle, and pottered over to the other side of the room to retrieve some kind of hat, which he pulled atop his fuzzy white hair, saying, "_That_ is a noble cause. Gimme the sixty-five, I'm on the job!"

Valerie cooed with glee, and she and her wizened husband set about making the miracle pill for Westley.

It looked rather like a chocolate truffle, small (although large for a pill), brown and not quite smooth. I regarded Max and Valerie; their intense expressions of concentration made them look like two elderly chocolatiers perfecting their prize delicacy.

"That's a miracle pill?" Enquired Inigo with a doubtful (although still as adorable as ever) expression.

"The chocolate coating makes it go down easier," Valerie explained. "But you have to wait fifteen minutes for full potency and he shouldn't go swimming after for at least what?" She looked to Max.

"An hour, a good hour, yeah," answered Max as he slipped the pill into a small pouch and passed it to Inigo, who lead Fezzik and I out the door.

"Thank you for everything!" Inigo called as he stepped over the threshold.

"Okay," replied Max, slipping his arm around his wife and coming with her to the door to see us off.

"Bye bye, darlings!" Valerie called, waving.

"Have fun storming the castle!" Max added.

I couldn't hear them, but in my head their lines played out: _'You think it'll work?' 'It would take a miracle.'_

After they had finally finished waving, we continued along to the castle battlements, Fezzik and Inigo supporting Westley, and me trailing uselessly behind, wishing there was more I could do.

Westley was skinny, but he must have been quite heavy, for when we crept, crouching to avoid being seen by the castles' guard, along the battlements and Fezzik allowed our revived friend's weight to rest fully on Inigo, the smaller man was almost crushed under his mass.

Fezzik peered over at the lines of evenly spaced guards. "Inigo," he whispered. "There's more than thirty."

"It makes no difference," Inigo whispered, struggling against Westley's dead weight. "We've got him," He held the head of the unconscious mastermind upright. Then his chocolate eyes turned to me.

I felt uncomfortable under his gaze, not least because I felt I looked comparatively bad next to his perfect example of male beauty, especially on a day like this. I'd had no access to flat-irons for days, and after last nights' little encounters with robbers and stints with bottles of brandy, I was far from my best. My hair was curly and dishevelled and I was pretty sure I had dark circles under my eyes, although due to the lack of mirror access I couldn't confirm my suspicions. The clothes I was wearing were dirty and slightly torn from all my shenanigans, and I looked more like a member of a renegade crew as every minute passed. With my flyaway long hair twisting in the breeze like it was, and my pentacle charm glinting in the bright Florinese sun, it must have been very easy to believe I had paranormal gifts.

I met Inigo's gaze. There was a strange look in his eyes. I wondered at first how terrible he must think I looked, but then I saw he was not looking at me with criticism. He was looking at me as if trying to figure out what I was thinking, how I felt. It occurred to me that I might be the first female to storm a castle since Maid Marian. In an attempt to assure my Spanish friend of my well-being, I smiled tentatively at him.

"And her," he whispered, without breaking eye contact. "I've got you, Isabel." His voice was stronger now. "At times like these that could make all the difference."

I blinked, startled by 'I've' rather than 'We've'. For a moment, a naïve, insane part of me hoped he wasn't talking about my fake supernatural powers. That part of me swooned, and I felt suddenly weak at the knees. This really was a cheesy movie when you were in it.

Fezzik cleared his throat. Understandably, I'd forgotten he was there.

The spell (ha ha) was broken. Our eyes shifted elsewhere.

"Can…can you see anything?" Inigo asked after a moment of his awkward, squashed-under-Westley silence, and my fervent blushing. "About the castle, I mean. The guards. The layout. Rugen." He emphasized the last one, but his intonation was lost on me.

_No, _I wanted to say. _No, I can't. But what I can see is you and I, in a meadow side by side after we leave this place victorious. I'm tending your wounds, and you're wincing in pain. I'm apologizing furiously, but you're saying it isn't my fault. I'm insisting that it is, and you haven't the energy to argue with me, so you silence me._

_With your lips._

Dragging myself out of my childish fantasies, I brought my thoughts back to the present. I wasn't sure how much I could give away about our current situation without damaging the plot, so I said, gesturing to the guards, "The men…they are…foolish. Weak of mind. Superstitious. We have that in our favour."

"Anything else?" He pressed.

"The goddess believes it best to withhold all else from me," I said with a shrug. "I trust her judgement."

I wanted to say more, warn him of the danger, of Rugen's craftiness and his precision with a throwing blade, but I knew I could not. Giving that much away could jeopardize everything.

Inigo heaved a sigh that almost broke my heart. How much I wanted to help him. His eyes turned to Fezzik.

"Help me here," he muttered, struggling under Westley's weight to find the miracle pill. Fezzik pulled the limp form off his companion, who continued, "We'll have to force-feed him."

"Has it been fifteen minutes?" The giant responded.

"We have no time," the smaller man said, a renewed urgency in his manoeuvres. "The wedding starts in half an hour. We must strike in the hustle and the bustle beforehand."

My stomach twinged with nerves. My anxiety must have been evident on my face, too, for Fezzik patted me on the back in a way that was supposed to be reassuring, but nearly sent my comparatively fragile frame sprawling on the ground, and Inigo threw me a supportive look. Realizing that we were more of a team than ever before, I was suitably heartened.

"Tilt his head back," Inigo instructed. Fezzik obliged. I hovered around like a superfluous maid, wanting, pathetic as it was, to be part of the miracle too. "Open his mouth," the Spaniard ordered. After Fezzik had squeezed his jaw in a way that couldn't have been comfortable, he forced the choking hazard of a pill down the pirate's throat.

That done, Fezzik questioned, "How long do we have to wait before we know if the miracle works?"

"I don't know," murmured Inigo in reply. "Your guess is as good as mine."

At that exact instant, Westley's eyes flew open. He glared at Inigo the way I used to glare at small annoying children. "I'll beat you each apart! I'll take you both together!" He cried. Fezzik clamped a gigantic hand over his mouth.

"I guess not very long," the giant said. Westley looked confused. He had good reason. Fezzik removed his large appendage. Westley seemed to have regained control of himself, for he gazed at Inigo with a wary contempt.

"Why won't my arms move?" He demanded.

"You've been mostly dead all day," the giant explained.

"We had Miracle Max make a pill to bring you back," Inigo added.

Westley's eyes narrowed. "Who are you? Are we enemies? Why am I on this wall? Where's Buttercup?"

Inigo looked undaunted. Taking a deep breath, he said, "Let me explain," Then he paused. "No, there is too much. Let me sum up: Buttercup is marrying Prince Humperdinck in little less than half an hour, so all we have to do is get in, break up the wedding, steal the princess and make our escape. After I kill Count Rugen."

"Hmm," said Westley in thought, tapping a thumb against his chest. "That doesn't leave much time for dilly-dallying."

"You just wiggled your finger," interjected Fezzik abruptly. "That's wonderful!"

"I've always been a quick healer," replied Westley without a second glance at him. His eyes returned to Inigo. "What are our liabilities?"

"There is but one castle gate," began Inigo, and the other two men lifted him to see for himself. "And it is guarded by…" He paused briefly to count the guards. "Sixty men."

"Our assets?"

"Your brains, Fezzik's strength, my steel." Inigo really had faith, almost like he knew it would work.

Westley looked at me for the first time. He took in my appearance, my untidy hair and ragged clothes, and mostly my wide, frightened eyes, in less than a second. I was uncomfortable. Instinctively, I touched the pentacle around my neck. "What of her?" He asked, not taking his eyes off me.

"She is… gifted," Inigo said slowly, also looking at me. If I was uncomfortable before, I was now even more self-conscious. "She can see things. The future. Sometimes how people are feeling."

"And she is always right?"

"Most of the time. She's only human. Not even mystics are beyond human error."

I smiled.

Westley was not encouraged. He turned to Inigo. "That's it? That's all we have? Impossible. If I had a month to plan maybe I could come up with something, but this…" He trailed off, shaking his head, slightly, stiff from all the time he had spent unconscious.

"You just shook your head!" Fezzik rejoiced. "That doesn't make you happy?"

Westley made a weird, sloppy, limp manoeuvre with his head that somehow ended in him facing Fezzik, and said, "My brains, your strength, his steel and her…gifts against sixty men and you think a little head jiggle is supposed to make me happy, hmm?" Sarcasm oozed from his words.

Westley's arrogance was starting to annoy me. "If I was you, I'd just be happy to be alive," I said, speaking to him for the first time. "You're really lucky that we decided to put the money and time into reviving you, and even more lucky that we managed to convince Miracle Max to do the same. Have you any idea how bitter and grumpy that guy is?"

Westley locked eyes with me, as if to test my bravery. I didn't look away. I became rather determined when faced with arrogant snakes in the grass. I suppose that came from five years spent at a less-than-perfect secondary school, where I had to deal with overinflated senses of pride every day.

In the end, he looked away first. It wasn't surrender, more that his love for Buttercup overwhelmed his irritation with me. He turned back to Inigo.

I caught Fezzik's eyes and we grinned ruefully at each other.

"If only we had a wheelbarrow that would be something!" Westley spat. Had he been able, I'm sure he would have clenched his fists.

Inigo looked enlightened. He turned to Fezzik and I. "Where did we put the wheelbarrow the albino had?"

"With the albino, I think," the kneeling giant replied.

"Why didn't you list that among our assets in the first place?" Westley hissed at Inigo. Oh, how I would have loved to castrate him just then. In his current condition, I doubted he could have fought me off. I snickered privately to myself. Fezzik noticed, but I refused to share my joke with him.

With a massive sigh, Westley raised his eyes to heaven. "What I wouldn't give for a holocaust cloak."

The cliché-ness of this part always annoyed me.

"There we cannot help you," Inigo said, shaking his head. His hair, fluffy from the dunking Fezzik had given him earlier, fanned out around him. I tried not to gawp. He got more amazing every time I looked.

With a triumphant flourish, Fezzik produced a holocaust cloak from the front of his baggy shirt.

"I bet you didn't see that one coming!" He cried happily.

"I did," I provided with a smirk. Inigo tittered, but Westley was not amused.

"Will this do?" Fezzik asked, grinning all over his face.

"Where did you get that?" Said Inigo incredulously.

"At Miracle Max's. It fit so nice he said I could keep it."

"Alright, alright, come on, help me up," Westley said. The two men fluttered around him, helping him to stand. I was more unnecessary than ever.

"Now, I will need a sword eventually," said Westley once he was upright.

"Why?" Puzzled Inigo, as Westley's head flopped forward, ragdoll style. "You can barely lift one."

Fezzik straightened him up. "True, but that's hardly common knowledge, is it?" Westley quipped. His head fell backwards. Fezzik righted it again. "Thank you," he said. "Now, there may be problems once we're inside." Limply, his head fell forward again. Fezzik again lifted it into the correct position.

"I'll say," said Inigo. "How do I find the Count? Once I do, how do I find you again? Once I do, how do we escape?"

"Don't pester him," Fezzik scolded, moving Westley's head for him. "He's had a hard day."

"Right, right, sorry."

After a short pause, Fezzik made Westley nod.

Fezzik wedged me in between him and Westley and the four of us began to creep along the battlements at a snail's pace.

"Inigo," Fezzik whispered.

"What?" The Spaniard replied.

"I hope we win."

I smiled awkwardly to no one in particular. So did I.

Night descended quickly on us. I saw that as an advantage.

"They're even more cowardly than I thought," I whispered to Inigo in the castle's torchlight.

"Good," he paused. "Erm, Isabel?"

"Yes, my dear?" I replied charmingly with a smile. For some reason, I felt rather at ease with the three of them, even though I knew the road ahead of us was far from smooth.

"Do you… do you see us winning?"

I grinned. "Of course."

"And you're not just saying that for morale?"

I feigned horror. "If I had any inkling that we would not be victorious, believe me there is no way I would let you go in there. I care about you and Fezzik far too much. We're comrades. You must believe that I'm sure we'll all make it out alive."

A slow smile spread across his features. "Don't fret," he murmured too low for the others to hear. He reached out and gently touched a lock of my hair. "I trust you completely."

I tried to stop my smile from wavering, although I wanted to cry. It was so hard to know that while he believed me so absolutely, I was letting him go in there to get stabbed. Although, at least, I hadn't lied about one thing. We _would_ all make it out alive.

Thankfully, he didn't hold my gaze for longer than necessary. He turned to the others and held out his hand. I placed mine delicately on top of it. Fezzik's dustbin-lid sized palm slapped down on us next, and finally Westley wriggled viciously until his hand too completed the gesture.

Minutes later, we had Fezzik all dressed up in his holocaust cloak and stood on top of the impossibly sturdy wheelbarrow. We approached the gate, Inigo and I pushing Fezzik's great mass along, and Westley not helping matters much by leaning heavily on us for support.

Mercifully, the first gate was unlocked. We ploughed Fezzik through it without too much difficulty, but then his weight started to become more of a problem.

"I am the Dread Pirate Roberts," Fezzik boomed. "There will be no survivors!"

The men fidgeted, but didn't desert Yellin yet.

Inigo was very strong for a man his size, and I wasn't particularly weak, but Fezzik weighed more than all of us put together. Wheezing slightly, Inigo asked, "Now?"

"Not yet," murmured Westley in reply.

"My men are here," Fezzik continued. "I am here, but soon –" He pointed. "_You _will not be here."

Most of the soldiers were now itching to get away.

"_Now?!_" Inigo squeaked. If he was having difficulties, I was dying.

"Light him," Westley affirmed. Even though I wasn't looking at him, the evil look on his face was clear in my mind. Inigo held a candle to Fezzik's cloak. The flames licked up the material angrily.

"The Dread Pirate Roberts takes _no survivors!_ All your worst nightmares are about to come true! The Dread Pirate Roberts is here for your soul!" The men were so frenzied that they completely ignored Yellin's orders and deserted him, leaving only Yellin floundering around by the castle gate.

Fezzik shook himself out of the burning cloak and Inigo and I discarded the wheelbarrow, helping Westley toward the gate.

"Fezzik, the port cutlass!" Westley cried. Fezzik got there just in time to stop us from being locked out. Yellin blanched. The four of us loped up to him.

It was rather hard to believe we looked threatening, but Westley hissed, "Give us the gate key."

"I have no gate key." Said Yellin shortly.

"Fezzik," Inigo said softly. "Tear his arms off." I tensed at the thought.

"Oh, you mean this gate key," said Yellin quickly, producing it. Fezzik snatched it from him.

Soon, the gate was unlocked and we were inside. We crept around the castle, me keeping close to Inigo's side. My stomach had twisted itself into a complicated knot. I envisioned Rugen and his thugs racing with terrifying speed to meet us. My breath caught.

Unfortunately, Inigo heard. "What is it?" He whispered urgently. "What have you seen?"

"He's – he's –" I struggled, but it was too late. Rugen and his backup came careening around the corner. They stopped a few yards in front of us. I retreated behind Inigo, unashamed of my cowardice. He poised himself for battle like a tiger.

"Kill the dark one, the giant and the girl," Rugen instructed. My body froze. "But leave the fourth for questioning."

The men proceeded forward. Not one of them made it past Inigo. The lightning-quick Spaniard's sword whipped through the air, killing them all effortlessly in seconds. He straightened up, gazing intently into Rugen's startled eyes.

"Hello," he murmured softly. "My name is Inigo Montoya. You killed my father. Prepare to die." He stepped gracefully into position. Rugen twisted his sword in his hand, not sure what to make of him. Then, without warning, he turned tail and ran.

Inigo was after him like a shot. Fezzik and Westley exchanged glances. I didn't move an inch.

"Isabel?" Fezzik asked after a moment.

I managed a stiff nod.

"You've seen something, haven't you?"

I nodded again.

"Something bad."

Nod.

"Go after him."

He didn't need to tell me twice. I had no idea what I was doing, but my concern for Inigo overruled everything else. I stole a sword off one of the dead guards, nodding respectfully at the corpse and touching my pentacle. "Sorry, mate." I murmured gently, and then I was running with all my might around the corner after the men.

Through some miracle, I didn't get lost. I caught up with Inigo by the locked door that Rugen had disappeared through. "FEZZIK! FEZZIK, I NEED YOU!" He was screaming.

"I can't leave him alone!" Replied Fezzik. Inigo rammed into the door repeatedly. I joined him, but still it wouldn't budge.

"HE'S GETTING AWAY FROM ME, FEZZIK! PLEASE!" Inigo was desperate. He continued screaming until Fezzik ambled around the corner and ceased us in our hopeless barraging. With one swift punch, the door was decapitated.

"Thank you," Inigo whispered, and he was off again. I followed him.

"Go back, Isabel," He told me as we raced on. "This isn't your fight."

"Yes it is."

"No it isn't."

"It's your fight, therefore it's my fight."

"That's how it is, is it?"

"Yes."

"But you don't know how to handle a sword."

"You think I care about that? Inigo, what I – I've seen, I can't bear it. I'm coming with you, like it or not."

"No."

"Yes."

"You don't understand. I have to do this alone."

"I couldn't bear it if you were hurt."

"What? I –"

"When I – when I saw you in my future I didn't think I'd become as attached to you as I have, and we mystics – we don't give up easily."

"Isabel, you must go back. Rugen is too skilled."

"I don't care."

"Listen to me!" His voice was suddenly cruel. "Go back! I don't need you! You'd be more of a hindrance than a help anyway! Just go!"

And then he was at the deadly staircase. I froze. I didn't know what to say, except – "Stop! You can't go down there! You can't! Inigo!"

But it was too late. I heard the dagger slice through the air, and his pained gasp as it embedded itself in his gut. I curled into a little ball on the floor, hating myself. I'd known this would happen from the start – why did it hurt so much?

"Sorry father," I strained to hear him whisper. "I tried." Then he whispered something else – it sounded like my name. I shook my head. I was hearing things. He hated me. He must. I'd tried to get in the way of his revenge.

"You must be that little Spanish brat I taught a lesson to all those years ago," that loathsome voice said. "Simply incredible. You've been chasing me your whole life only to fail now? I think that's the worst thing I've ever heard. How marvellous."

I see it in my head as clear as day – his pained expression as he slumped to the floor. My heart wrenched. It was crazy that I was even letting myself feel like this. It wasn't like he was anything to me. That was obvious now.

The time that passed as Inigo gathered his strength to make his last stand against Rugen seemed like hours, though it could only have been a few minutes. In that time I mulled over my experiences so far. I thought of all the times Inigo had saved me, all the times we'd joked about Vizzini and the time we'd got drunk together in the forest. It was hard to believe that all of that was purely because he needed my fake psychic powers.

I was wondering if he was ever going to stand, when I heard his breath catch in his throat once again, and Rugen drawl, "Good heavens, are you still trying to win?"

"You'd better believe it," I whispered to myself.

A dull thud as he collapsed back against the wall.

"You've got an overdeveloped sense of vengeance. It's going to get you into trouble someday." A slide of steel against steel as Rugen drew his sword.

I tried not to think about it as Inigo tried limply to defend against Rugen's stabs to each of his arms.

Then – gloriously – I heard him fight back. Their swords clashed deafeningly, and the fight began.

"Hello. My name is Inigo Montoya. You killed my father. Prepare to die."

His chant started low, punctuated by slashes and cracks.

A thump as he fell against a table. I couldn't imagine the pain he was in.

More sounds of sword against sword.

"Hello. My name is Inigo Montoya. You killed my father. Prepare to die."

A clatter as they overturned a candelabra.

"Hello! My name is Inigo Montoya! You killed my father. Prepare to die." His voice was stronger now; the fight was back in him. I could almost smell Rugen's discomfort.

"Stop saying that!" He hissed.

I heard him howl in pain as Inigo stabbed both of his arms with the coveted six-fingered sword.

"Hello! My name is Inigo Montoya! You killed my father! Prepare _to die_!"

I knew he now had Rugen backed up against the wall. "Offer me money," he murmured, slashing a scar like his own down Rugen's left cheek.

"Yes," replied Rugen, his voice barely a whisper.

"Power too, promise me that," Another slash, another scar.

"All that I have and more," he begged. "Please."

"Promise me anything I ask for," Inigo's voice was verging on exultant.

"Anything you want," Rugen's final words as he made one last slash towards Inigo. I heard his sword deflect the blow easily and then I heard a horrifying groan as the sword created for Rugen entered his abdomen.

"I want my father back you son of a bitch."

A crash. Rugen had fallen to the floor and breathed his last breath.

Wild horses could not stop me now. I raced down the steps, crying out, "Inigo!"

He whirled around to face me, arms outstretched whether to embrace me or for support I'll never know, but I never got to him.

Because, of course, I did what was typical of me, and tripped over my own feet, sending myself hurtling down the stairs head first and plunging into unconsciousness.

**Author's Note: It's finally here! The longest chapter ever! What will happen next? Will Isabel remember anything? What about her 'powers'? What about Inigo?**

**All will be revealed.**

**I would like to thank Northern Grunge for her long and loving reviews – because she just rocks, generally. If it wasn't for her I might have abandoned it altogether.**

**So, I'm thinking of continuing this past the movie – at least a little bit. Anyone have any views/ideas on this? Feedback is, as always, appreciated.**

**Lots of love,**

**Hoopy.**


	6. Of Blows to the Head and Great Escapes

The Misplaced Mystic

Chapter 6: Of Blows to the Head and Great Escapes

**Author's Note: I know I've posted this at the same time as the previous chapter, but I've just got back off a holiday in France at the moment so I was really absorbed in writing and haven't had an opportunity to upload earlier.**

When I came to, I was lying on a soft squishy bed wearing something long and flowing. For a moment, I wondered if I'd gone home. I hadn't known such luxury since I'd left the twenty-first century.

I must've hit my head pretty hard, for it pounded. Each one of my heartbeats was amplified tenfold as it ricocheted round my head. I heard voices over the noise of my own life.

"…I thought he was with you."

"No."

My ears pricked up at the sound of Inigo's voice. I murmured. Nobody seemed to hear me.

"In that case – ugh…" The other voice was Westley.

"Help him." Said Inigo.

"Why does Westley need helping?" Asked a voice, soft, gentle, kind, feminine. Buttercup.

"Because he has no strength."

"I knew it! I knew you were bluffing! I knew you were – bluffing."

"Shall I dispatch him for you?"

"Thank you, but no. Whatever happens to us I want him to live a long life alone with his cowardice."

Inigo was all that filled my fuzzy brain. I groaned.

"She's awake," he noted. Footsteps. A creak. I felt someone sit down on the mattress next to me.

My eyes fluttered open. Everything moved into focus slowly.

I turned my head to look around and shockwaves of pain radiated from my head, spreading out across my body. I moaned as the world blurred and spun.

"Will she be okay?"

"She'll be fine. The wound to her head will heal. I just hope she's… the same." It was strange for Westley to be showing such concern for someone other than Buttercup.

Despite everything, Inigo chuckled. "She just _fell._ It's just _so Isabel._"

I wasn't sure I wanted to be known as the clumsy mystic. "What you tryin'a say?" I grumbled, reverting to my Yorkshire accent subconsciously.

He chuckled again. I felt him take my hand and my pulse quickened, as it always did when he touched me.

I forced my head to behave, strained myself to bear the pain. After a moment of excruciating struggle, my eyes refocused and I could see clearly.

The sight of Inigo's chocolate brown eyes staring into mine was perhaps the happiest, most relieving sight of my life. I felt my breath escape my lungs in an awed sigh.

"You're okay," I said, mustering the strength in my arm to reach up and gently touch his cheek. He smiled warmly. That was a good sign. "Incredible. Even more amazing, so am I."

He and Westley chortled. "You took quite a tumble, so I've heard," the latter remarked.

"Inigo was hurt," I said simply, as if that explained everything. "You couldn't have expected me to dawdle about."

They laughed again, but I wasn't jesting.

"You don't hate me?" I whispered to Inigo when Westley was distracted by Buttercup fussing over him.

Inigo's expression was somewhere between surprise and shock. "Why on earth would I hate you?"

"What you said –"

"Oh, you silly girl," he leant over me and stroked my hair out of my eyes. "I didn't mean any of it."

"Then why did you say it?"

"The same reason you tried to stop me. I didn't want you to be hurt, just like you didn't want me to get hurt."

"But why –"

"I'll explain some other time. Now isn't really the time or the place." His eyes flew to Prince Humperdinck tied in his chair.

"Okay." I agreed.

Seconds later –

"Inigo!" A great boom from the courtyard. Fezzik had arrived with his troupe of horses. My head swam. Did he really have to be so _loud?_

"Inigo, where are you?" Fezzik called again.

"Shut_ up_!" I screamed back, clutching my ears.

Inigo and Westley were laughing at me again.

Fezzik paused for a second. "Sorry," he said eventually, but he wasn't any quieter. I hissed to myself, trying to regain control.

Inigo rose from the bed and went to the window, accompanied by Westley and Buttercup. I made a slight noise of protest, but it went unnoticed. I heard a slight squeak as they opened the window.

"Oh, there you are," I heard Fezzik say, softer now. I half-wanted to get up and go over there to see, since the pain in my skull was dulling, but I realized that there was a good chance of being carried by Inigo if I stayed put, so I laid still. "Inigo, I saw the Prince's stables, and there they were, five white horses, and I thought, there are five of us, if we ever find the lady. Hello, lady! So I took them with me, in case we ever bumped into each other. I guess we just did."

"Fezzik, you did something right," Inigo murmured, his voice incredulous.

"Don't worry," Fezzik joked. "I won't let it go to my head."

I watched as Westley and Inigo assisted Buttercup out of the window, sighing with envy at her graceful beauty as she floated down into Fezzik's waiting arms.

"Come on, Isabel," Inigo said, walking back over to the bed. "Let's get you up."

For once, _I _had done something right.

"I'll be fine once I wake up properly," I assured him, but sounded more hopeful than certain. He nodded, obviously not believing me.

He wrapped one arm around my waist, the other around my back and gently lifted me to my feet. My knees buckled from under me, and I can't be sure that that was completely due to the blow to my head.

He was patient, and didn't let me fall to the ground. "Try and walk," he instructed, and of course I did, for I'd do anything he asked me to, even if I was reluctant to be out of his arms.

It was easier than I'd anticipated. Being upright had done me a world of good. I walked across the room in my usual way, albeit somewhat stiffly. I managed not to trip over any invisible obstacles, and made it to the window in one piece. I noticed something soft and silky brushing against my calves as I walked. I looked down at my body. To my extreme surprise, I was dressed in a ruby-coloured silk gown trimmed with black lace. It was so long it brushed the ground, the sleeves came well past my wrists, and it was daringly low-cut, making me feel self-conscious, for I was not particularly well-endowed in the chest area. The gown clung to my stomach and hips well enough, but it was a little too long in the limb. It obviously belonged to Buttercup, whose frame was a little thinner than mine and an inch or two taller.

I glared at Inigo and Westley accusingly. "Who the hell changed me?!"

The pair of them laughed. "It was Buttercup," Inigo said. "She kicked us all out of the room first, don't worry."

I sighed in relief, but then I glowered again. "If I find out you're lying –"

" – I know, I know, you'll castrate me." He grinned ruefully, helping me to the window ledge.

"This is prettier," I admitted. "But rather impractical for riding, don't you think?" I eyed the horses, picking the second tallest stallion to be mine.

"That's as maybe," he agreed. "But you're right, it _is _prettier."

Elated, I leapt from the window. Fezzik caught me, a silly grin on his face. I grinned back at the loveable giant as he set me down on the ground, the pain in my head forgotten.

I took the reigns of my horse. He truly was a magnificent stallion, with excellent conformation. That wasn't the reason I'd chosen him, though. His eyes were a warm brown. They looked kind and friendly. I patted his neck. He was the snowiest white I'd ever seen. I decided to call him Jack Frost, Jack for short.

Soon, Inigo and Westley were on the ground beside us.

"Riding is no trouble for you?" Inigo asked.

"I've been riding for the past nine years," I said. It was true. I did ride often and I had a passion for all things equestrian. I was saving up money for a horse of my own after I'd left university. "So no, it's no problem."

He reached out to help me mount, but I'd already jumped upon Jack's back. The horse was surprisingly comfortable to sit on, even though I rarely rode bareback. I took the reigns in my hands and waited for the others.

Moments later, we were off. Westley ran lead file, with Buttercup on his heels. Next in line came Inigo, then I, and Fezzik brought up the rear, as his weight considerably hindered even the strongest, biggest horse. I was very grateful of the extra few inches in my borrowed gown, without them, it would surely have split at the seams from the awkward riding position.

We raced on. I let all my worries fly away with the wind that rushed past me. I always went into a sort of meditative state when I was riding. The medieval suburbia of Florin's outskirts fell away from us fast, and soon we were out in open country.

I became more accustomed to Jack, his gaits and his speeds. He was the perfect horse for me: fast, intelligent, pretty, smooth and bombproof, that is, he didn't spook at every little thing like Buttercup's horse did.

It felt like we had only been riding a few minutes, but soon dawn was staining the horizon a violent colour of orange. We sped up in the new light; the improved visibility meant we didn't have to stay at a slow canter for safety. By the time the sky had painted itself a watercolour of pastels, we had begun to race each other.

Fezzik had the obvious disadvantage, and Inigo's wound was bothering him, so they weren't moving at their horses' top speeds. I was tiring and my head's ache was beginning to intensify again, so I too slowed to a smoother canter to prevent antagonizing it, so the main competition was between Westley and Buttercup. Westley had the lead strength-wise, but Buttercup had been riding since she was a little girl while Westley was relatively new to the sport. They galloped ahead, neck and neck, while the three of us dragged behind in canter, watching while our horses pulled impatiently at their bits, wanting to run too.

I don't know how many miles we covered before Westley drew us collectively to a halt, but it must have been almost midday, for the sun beat down mercilessly on us, making our skin greasy with sweat and the horses pant as they strived onward.

I'd been worrying about Inigo for a while now, for I could tell the uneven movements of his horse was aggravating his wound. He'd been trying for the last twenty minutes to keep an agonized grimace off his face, to little avail. While the pain in my head stabbed at regular intervals and occasionally blurred my vision (fortunately Jack was automatically following the other members of his herd and so steering was unnecessary), I was sure it was nothing compared to what my friend was going through.

We finally came to a stop in a lush green field on top of a hill. It was the perfect vantage point; we could see for miles if anything was chasing us and we had the safety of some rocky mountains, so impassable that only Fezzik could survive climbing them with us clinging on to him, behind us to run to if we needed to flee.

Sure enough, as soon as it was safe to do so Inigo slid from his horse, landing bent over, his face contorted in pain. I was at his side in an instant, leaving Jack to graze.

I assisted my friend to lie down in the grass. Westley came over to tend to his wound, knowing the rudiments of emergency medicine from his time as a cabin boy. Buttercup helpfully ripped superfluous pieces of fabric from her multi-layered wedding gown for use as bandages, and soon the flow of blood from Inigo's abdomen was stemmed by a girly dressing consisting mostly of lace and cotton. His eyes closed. Westley told us he would sleep lots to escape the pain, and that it would help him, so we left him undisturbed.

Our horses foraged on the luscious grass serenely. Intermittently, they would look up from their feeding at something in the trees, their ears cocked forwards, and we would start, wondering if we were being watched, but it would always turn out to be a squirrel or a rabbit peering curiously at our strange ensemble. I liked to watch the capers of the cute animals, and I found the horses' peaceful eating very relaxing to observe. Their contentment was infectious, and I was soon lulled into a sense that everything was going to be all right. Inigo's breathing was deep and even, the way all humans breathe when they are asleep, and Westley's strength had returned to its usual brilliance. Buttercup was euphorically delighted at being permanently reunited with her long lost love, and Fezzik, like me, had found solace in the beauty of the nature that surrounded us. As far as we were concerned, all was well.

I fiddled with blades of the damp grass, plaiting it into long strands thick enough to circle Fezzik's wrist. He watched my quick fingers with fascination.

"How on earth do you do that so fast?" He asked incredulously.

I laughed. "Years and years of plaiting horses' manes," I replied. "I'll show you, if you like."

I budged up to the giant, and showed him patiently how to weave the grass. He was frustrated at first because his large fingers kept fumbling with the blades and messing them up, but he eventually got the hang of it. We fell into silence, listening to the hum of the wilderness around us and becoming absorbed in our mundane childish task.

Soon we had plaited strands long enough to encompass the horses' necks. I tied mine around Jack, the green contrasting with his snowy fur. Then I started on his mane, plaiting it and then tying the plaits up into little buns to help keep his neck cool. I braided some parts of his tail too.

I went round everybody's horses doing the same, although I gave Buttercup's mare a trellis plait to complement Buttercup's flowing golden locks.

That done, I sat back to admire my handiwork.

The horses seemed pleased with their new looks.

Dusk was falling now, and the sky tinted itself shades of orange and red. I lay back in the grass, staring at the clouds as they changed colour slowly before my eyes. The others too settled down. Westley sat up, keeping watch, as although he thought it unlikely anyone would come for us, he wanted to be sure. Twilight came and went, and the navy-black darkness of deep night crept across the sky like an ink stain. The stars glinted like minute diamonds, a million miles away, and the moon was full and pale yellow, almost cream, and I gazed at it, thanking the forces that be (and even Jocelyn) for my happy life here, and even more fervently, I thanked them for the fact that I had survived. While I wasn't any more fragile than the next person, I was not particularly robust either, unlike the majority of my companions.

I watched the rise and fall of Inigo's chest as he breathed, studied the innocent, peaceful, almost childlike expression on his perfect face. The hilt of the six-fingered sword glinted in its scabbard, a reminder of Inigo's father and his now-restful soul. My thoughts strayed to the body of Count Rugen in the banquet hall. Surely it would have been discovered now. Had Prince Humperdinck ratted us out? Had he sent a cavalry after us? I shuddered. If I kept thinking morbidly like that, I would never sleep.

Such an eventful day had exhausted everyone else, but for me the distressing events had done nothing but aggravate my insomnia. Knowing for sure now that I wouldn't be sleeping that night, I offered to take over from Westley on the night watch.

He gladly obliged and curled up next to Buttercup in the soft grass. I smiled at the cute couple, and continued the watch.

Then, it was dawn – and someone was poking me. I opened my eyes, having not realized I had even slept.

The poker was Fezzik. "Westley will not be happy with you if he sees you sleeping on the job," he warned, genuine concern in his voice.

I laughed. "I work for Westley, now, do I?" I joked. "But you're right, I should have stayed awake."

"I don't mind," Fezzik quickly said. "It's so rare that you sleep, Isabel. You're not a vampire, are you?" He looked at Inigo's abdomen anxiously.

I was in hysterics. "A vampire? _Me?!_ Don't be silly! I'm not gonna seduce Inigo and suck his blood," I assured him, still laughing so hard my sides hurt.

Fezzik looked suitably reassured.

It was a pretty safe bet that I wouldn't sleep again today, so I asked Fezzik if he wanted to go fetch wood for a fire. The morning was chillier than the day before and I was sure the delicate Buttercup and recuperating Inigo would be grateful of the heat. I, too, was not exactly boiling in my flimsy silk gown.

The giant and I walked pleasantly into the trees, me picking up likely-looking sticks off the ground, Fezzik simply shaking trees until they deposited all their twigs onto the wood floor. We wandered deeper into the woods where the trees were thicker and the sunlight had a hard time penetrating the leafy canopy. I wasn't worried, for I was never far from Fezzik's amiable whistling and the thuds and cracks of the trees he preyed upon. I had gathered as many sticks as I could carry and was heading back to Fezzik when suddenly I saw something that frightened me so much I dropped my armful of wood all over the ground.

There was a pair of evil scarlet eyes staring maliciously into mine from between two saplings.

**Author's Note: Aren't you just overjoyed! Two chapters at once! I've written one-and-a-half chapters of a kind of sequel thing but I won't upload it if people think that it needs to be ended here…what are your views?**


	7. Of Revenge Gone Sour and Drastic Changes

Lies Become the Truth

Chapter One: Of Revenge Gone Sour and Drastic Changes

**Author's Note: Thanks for everyone's support with this. I'm really excited about this, for some reason, and I'm really enthusiastic. So read on! It's kind of more dramatic than the others, but I promise you, the humour and random idiocy will return very shortly.**

_Previously…_

"_We wandered deeper into the woods where the trees were thicker and the sunlight had a hard time penetrating the leafy canopy. I wasn't worried, for I was never far from Fezzik's amiable whistling and the thuds and cracks of the trees he preyed upon. I had gathered as many sticks as I could carry and was heading back to Fezzik when suddenly I saw something that frightened me so much I dropped my armful of wood all over the ground._

_There was a pair of evil scarlet eyes staring maliciously into mine from between two saplings."_

-----

I recoiled automatically, my heel catching on a tree root and almost sending me flat on my rear-end. Through some miracle, I managed to remain upright, and continued to retreat backwards as the owner of the menacing ruby eyes advanced forward out of the shadows.

She was even more frightening than I'd remembered. Jocelyn was still beautiful, her hair falling in lustrous raven tresses around her shoulders and her skin still flawlessly smooth, but she had changed. Her eyes hadn't been that colour before, I was sure. She'd never quite looked normal to me, but now she was downright inhuman. Those petrifying eyes still held that wild, untameable look of pure hate, but the new cherry-coloured hue only intensified the fear she stirred within me.

Her skin had changed too. I remembered her being pale, almost ivory-coloured, but not like this. She looked drawn and pallid, like she needed a good nights sleep, and her skin was so pasty she was almost translucent. All of this put together made her rather look like she was made from a smooth, white stone, like chalk. She'd lost weight too, and her frame looked so delicate it was easy to believe she'd dissolve in water.

She looked like the walking dead.

"Alright," she snarled. "You've had your fun. You've lived out your witch fantasy. Now give me the pentacle and I might let you and your friends live."

I clutched the pendant. "No," I murmured. As strange as it seemed, and as much as I missed my family and lots of the modern-day comforts I was used to, I didn't want to leave. I liked my life here. I'd made a bunch of worthwhile friends who looked out for each other. That was a rare event back home, where almost everyone was a snake in the grass. I'd found my place in the world, and now Jocelyn was trying to take it away from me. I was not going to let that happen without fighting it to the best of my ability, although this new, stone Jocelyn looked so invincible she could snap me in half with one hand.

"I'll ask you again," she said, over-pronouncing every syllable, clearly trying to stop herself from ripping me to pieces. "It's this –" she pointed at the pentacle. "Or your life – and theirs." She nodded towards the makeshift camp. My thoughts flew to injured Inigo, and young Westley and Buttercup – so much ahead of them, and I was killing them with my selfishness.

"No," I whispered again, horrified, but I wasn't defying her. "Please. No. Do what you want to me, just don't hurt them."

A slow smile spread across her evil, angular, beautiful features. She had found my weakness. "Then give it to me," she said.

This was excruciating. I'd never be able to live in the twenty-first century, not after tasting this life. It would kill me, not knowing what had happened to them. Crazily, I wondered how they'd be without me. Would they miss me…?

That was beside the point. Jocelyn was getting impatient. Despite my terror, my fists clenched in anger. She was asking me to make a decision that would kill me anyway. She'd never let me survive. Even if she was lenient and sent me home, she probably engineer fate so that I was hit by a car or something. She couldn't leave me alive, because I knew too much.

The anger rose in waves across my body. "You'll only kill me anyway," I ventured. "I might as well die honourably."

Her nose turned up in derision. "Don't play the hero, you're far too unimpressive," she bit. I clenched my jaw, staring intently into her garnet eyes, all fear gone. She'd insulted me; that meant cowardice. I felt more fury bubbling up inside me like a pan about to overflow.

"Why?" I found myself demanding. "What is so important about it? It's a cheap piece of jewellery that cost two pounds from your poxy store! You could get another one. It's not important!"

I was extremely surprised she didn't kill me there and then. The whole forest suddenly seemed very tense and quiet. I couldn't hear Fezzik anywhere. He must have forayed deeper into the woods in search of better logs.

"Because," she hissed, her voice low and dangerous. "It's _my_ pentacle. The source of all my witch powers. The source of my life. If I'm far from it for too long, my powers disappear, I go like this –" she gestured to her brittle frame. "And then I die. You're the one killing me, not the other way around."

Suddenly, she didn't look so invincible. She looked fragile, like an ancient old woman. Her skin looked sickly and sallow, and her eyes no longer looked scary, just woebegone.

My breath caught in my throat. I didn't want to be a murderer. I managed to utter, "Then why did you sell it to me?"

"I didn't know until later that day when I came to see you and this…_accident_ happened. I knew something was causing it, something within the shop, but I had no idea what. Some objects just naturally appeal to the gifted, and the pentacle has always been one of them. I should have figured it out earlier."

"But why _this_ one?"

"That I'll never know. I just looked at it and it was like I was seeing the sun for the first time. I didn't know why at first, but I figured it out a few hours later."

"So I'm just downright unlucky to be involved in all of this? Either that, or I'm very very lucky, depending on how you look at things."

Jocelyn rolled her eyes. "So childish. I can't believe I thought you were an elite witch who sensed that the pentacle held all my powers and so deliberately took it away, to remove the competition, if you like."

"Witches have rivals?"

"Everyone has rivals."

"I don't."

"You're naïve."

"I know." I paused, collecting my thoughts. "This pentacle appealed to me too. Does that mean I have witch potential?"

Jocelyn heaved a sigh that shook her frail chest. I almost expected to hear her ribs crack. "No, that just means you like shiny things," she said, back to being her sarcastic self.

"That's no way to persuade me into letting you live," I said. The tables had suddenly turned. _I _had the power. Without even meaning to do it, I had drawn enough information out of Jocelyn to give _her_ the disadvantage.

Her eyes widened in shock as she realized what she had done. She reached out to snatch the pentacle from around my neck, but I was too quick. I dodged out of the way and set off running. I could hear her footsteps pursuing me, but her weak frame would not move fast enough to catch up with me. For once, I had the upper hand. Over a log, through a mud patch – nothing was going to slow me down.

Then the ground just disappeared.

I was on the edge of a woodland cliff with nowhere to run. I peered over the edge. It was really dark amongst the close-packed trees, but I could make out the shimmering of deep water below. Triumphantly, I held the pendant over the edge.

I hadn't realized how big a lead I had opened up against Jocelyn, for it took some time for her to catch up. When she finally heaved to a halt a few yards in front of me, her eyes grew as big as saucers.

"No," she whispered.

"You leave now," I commanded. "Or I throw this pentacle, your powers and your life deep into that lake."

"You can't -"

"Wanna find out?" I let the chain slip a little through my fist.

"No!" She cried.

We were at an impasse. I couldn't run, and she couldn't hurt me, but she refused to leave. From somewhere seemingly very far away, I heard Fezzik strike a massive tree with an echoing boom.

"Please," she begged, all dignity gone. "You couldn't live with this on your conscience."

"Maybe not," I admitted. "But if you killed my friends, I would die too, and for some reason, your death is more appealing to me than theirs."

Fezzik struck another tree, nearer this time. I heard him laugh uproariously to himself, completely unaware that his life was at stake.

"If you give it to me," she pleaded breathlessly. "I swear no harm will come to any of you. Hell, you can even stay here, if you want to!"

"You're lying!"

"I'm not!"

"I may not be a real mystic, but I'm not stupid."

"You are stupid!" She spat. "You've no idea what you're messing with! My friends are no match for you and your little outcast posse! We'd crush you to dust! We'd –"

I never found out what Jocelyn would do, for at that moment Fezzik felled another tree, a giant redwood, at least sixty feet tall, and it crashed to the ground, leaving a gaping hole in the otherwise opaque canopy. The sun streamed in, golden and glorious, shining off the glassy water below us and illuminating me.

Something strange began to happen. The light caught the silver pentacle and glinted off brightly. A warm feeling began to spread up my arm, starting in my palm and increasing in intensity until it felt like a white-hot burn as it coursed across my skin. I froze, the pain too much for me to move. Jocelyn stared at me disbelievingly.

"No!" She screamed.

As the invisible flames of pain consumed me entirely, Jocelyn began to change. Her eyes fluctuated into her normal human colour and her skin turned solid and several shades darker. Her broken frame straightened up, and her figure was full and young again.

Although her eyes now looked human, and she was healthy, like she wanted, she still seemed livid with me. She lunged at me, obviously intending to throw me down the cliff, but an invisible shield intercepted her, sending her sprawling backwards in the leaves.

Slowly, the flames began to dull into a lulling throb in the centre of my body. I regained use of my limbs and my brain started to work again. I compulsively put the pentacle around my neck, seized by the desire to have it as close to me as possible. Wasn't this what Jocelyn had described? What had happened?

I regarded the woman that had previously terrified me. She now lay helpless on the ground, her clothes stained with dirt and her eyes looking tortured and outraged. "How dare you!" she screamed, and sprang at me again. This time, no force field blocked her, but I felt powerful and strange. Without even thinking about it, I swung my fist forward and punched her mightily in the nose. She flew backward, her feet not touching the ground, until her back slammed into a wide tree trunk a few metres away. Blood was coursing from her nose. I gawped in shock. I had never been a fighter. Had I really done that?

I was clutching the pentacle in my hand again.

Jocelyn screeched, her voice somewhere between despair and rage. "Look what you've done!"

"What have I done?" I whispered, staring at myself. I didn't look different, but I sure felt it. I felt like a goddess, a titan, an all-powerful being. I gasped in astonishment as I realized that I felt like a –

I had to breathe deeply for a moment before I trusted myself to think the thought:

I felt like a witch.

Jocelyn never responded, for she collapsed onto the floor and didn't move. I felt sick – had I killed her?

"Isabel!" A great voice called. "Isabel! Where are you?" Fezzik.

I turned to take one last look at Jocelyn – but she wasn't there. That meant, at least, that I hadn't killed her.

A few seconds later Fezzik was in sight. I ran to the giant, struggling to contain my horror.

"Hey, Isabel. I got lots of wood. Hey, what happened to you? Are you all right?" His concern threw me over the edge and I collapsed into a howling heap on the ground.

"Oh, Fezzik, what's happened to me?" I cried.

**Author's Note: Yeah, I'm sorry for the lack of cannon characters, but this was just to get it started. I promise there'll be loads of them in coming chapters!**

**Also, my muse was imprisoned using a combination of awesome music, walks along French beaches and wine =) Oh yes, I love summer.**


	8. Of Small Boxes and Long Chapter Titles

Lies Become the Truth

Chapter 2: Of Painful Realizations and Difficult Explanations

**Author's Note: Wow, I've never been so full of ideas. I really hope people aren't adverse to this but I must satisfy my desire to write somehow! Enjoy!**

Fezzik carried my sobbing mass back to the camp, as it seemed I had lost control of my limbs completely and they wouldn't function properly. I clutched the pentacle so tightly in my fist it left an imprint. I was scared to let it go; suddenly, it was as much a part of me as my notoriously stubborn spirit.

As my shock died down into a dull pang in my chest, I noticed more subtle changes to my senses, besides the strange super-strength I'd somehow conjured earlier in my battle with Jocelyn. All my senses seemed sharper; I could hear an animal rustle in the forest a mile away, a fox, I knew, because I could smell it with my refined nose. I knew I was still myself, but I didn't feel quite human…like I had the spirit of a wild animal trapped inside my soul, taking me over from the inside out. How could Jocelyn have wanted this? It was torture.

My heightened senses picked up on a warm, jubilant, happy, hopeful atmosphere as we neared the camp. Buttercup, glowing with joy, ran over to meet us.

"Oh, Isabel, Fezzik!" She cried. "At last, you're back!" She gazed at me more closely, saw the puffy evidence of crying on my tear-stained cheeks and froze. Her eyes roamed to mine, and as she read the mood behind them, she recoiled in shock. It hit me that I must have that crazy, wild look that Jocelyn always seemed to possess and I howled even harder, burying my face in the crook of Fezzik's vast arm. "Oh, Isabel! What's happened to you? You should be happy!"

I raised my head and stared blankly at her. What cause did _I _have to be happy?

"It's Inigo! He's woken up!" This news was obviously supposed to delight me, and about an hour ago it would have. Now, though, it just made me want to wail louder. I didn't want to share this with him. Not when he'd already been through so much because of my stupid lies.

Lyrics from an old Michael Jackson song I'd loved what seemed a lifetime ago echoed in my head:

_Be careful what you do,_

_Because a lie becomes the truth._

I'd never put much stock in that before now.

Buttercup, with her annoying naivety and tactless, albeit well-intentioned, remarks, was doing me no good.

"Fetch Westley for me," I begged her, speaking for the first time. Westley would know what to do. Westley always knew what to do.

Buttercup skipped off, puzzled. Fezzik laid me down in the grass where we stood. He was more perceptive than anyone thought. How could he have known that I didn't our recovering friend to see me in this state?

A few moments later, Westley was by my side. "Hello, Isabel," he began slowly, regarding me, gathering as much information as he could from my appearance. He, too, started when he saw my eyes. I wished I had a mirror. "Buttercup said you needed me?"

I managed a stiff nod. I looked at Fezzik, "Go and talk to Inigo. He'll be getting irritated with Buttercup. You needn't mention me."

The giant nodded and walked over to where Inigo lay.

Westley looked at me, a mournful look of pity and sympathy that sent me over the edge of the cliff I'd been hanging onto, falling deep into the despair that waited below, tears spilling out of my eyes.

He lay down beside me in the grass. Neither of us spoke for a long time. I knew he was trying to figure it out. It'd never happen.

"Jocelyn," I croaked.

"Who?" He asked.

And then I began, and once I started talking I couldn't stop. I told him of the red eyes in the shadowy wood, of the way she had spat and hissed, of the way she had threatened their lives, of how she'd accidentally revealed her weakness. I told him of the chase, of how I thought I was winning, of the cliff, of Fezzik and the trees, and the sunlight, of the pain…oh, the searing pain…

He said nothing while I spoke. When my description finally tailed to a shuddering end, he said, "Jocelyn is a witch."

"Was." I corrected.

"You should never have left Fezzik's side."

"I know. This is gonna sound strange but…I'm actually kinda glad I met her, or rather, I was, before now."

Westley frowned. "How's that?"

"Without her, I would never have met you guys."

I could tell he knew that when I said 'you guys' what I meant was 'Inigo'.

"Please explain," he said, his brow still furrowed.

"She…" I paused, choosing my words carefully. "…Engineered my fate so that I was in the right place at the right time. Now, though, I'm wondering if all this was worth the bother."

There was a long pause.

"You know that symbol around your neck is that of a witch?" He said eventually. Instinctively, I clutched at my pentacle and nodded.

"I think that, somehow, with the combination of your mystic powers and Jocelyn's pitifully bad emotional control, she accidentally amplified your powers, taking Jocelyn's away in the process."

I frowned. That made perfect sense to him, but none for me, as I knew that I had no mystic powers.

Westley, seeing my doubt, explained, "Jocelyn was a powerful witch, that much is true, but raw and inexperienced and very much overconfident, a very dangerous combination of traits. I think she meant to suck away your strength, physical, mental and paranormal, she did something wrong, made a minor mistake that lead to her downfall. Instead, she _gave_ you strength."

This made more sense. Jocelyn made a mistake in the first place, sending me back here; she could have made another mistake back in the woods, but that still didn't explain how she came to be rendered helpless.

"But why did that make her go all…human?" I asked, confused.

"You remember I said that Jocelyn was powerful," Westley said. "But not powerful enough to perform a spell like that unaffected."

"I don't understand…"

"Giving someone powers as strong as what yours seem to be is very difficult for even the most proficient of witches, from my knowledge," That was a point. How did Westley know all this? I'd always supposed he knew everything, but I'd thought his knowledge stopped at the supernatural. "Jocelyn must somehow have managed it by raw, unbridled anger alone, but, as I said, she was unskilled, and therefore unable to conjure magic, only transmit and transform it."

"So what you're saying is she _gave _me _her _powers?" I couldn't believe it. I felt sullied, dirty, invaded and unclean. I didn't want Jocelyn to be a part of me at all.

"No. I can tell you're nothing like her, even if I've never met her. From your experiences, she seems to be evil, vengeful and bitter. Even a fool could see you're not like that. People's powers match their personality."

"But I punched her! She went flying!" I was having a hard time taking this in. "That's nothing like me! I've got more chance of turning purple than punching somebody! I'm a wimp, through and through!"

"Human instincts. Self-defence."

"I'll show you human instincts-" I advanced on him impulsively, before regaining control of myself. "Hell! Why I am I being so aggressive?"

Westley looked undisturbed, but something strange within me told me he was a bit scared. "You're frightened," I murmured incredulously. Westley was never scared of anything.

"Yes, a bit," He admitted with a little laugh. "How did you know? I pride myself on having a perfect poker face."

"I don't know," I stammered. It was true Westley always managed to look composed, and now was no exception. "I just _knew_."

"Maybe it's a special talent," he said. "Some witches have them."

"Did Jocelyn?"

"I don't know for sure, but it doesn't appear so."

I knew he wasn't lying, with that same unexplainable certainty. Maybe he was right; maybe I did have some strange underlying talent.

"Going back to your uncharacteristic hostility, I believe you are having the same trouble Jocelyn did."

"I'm raw and inexperienced?"

"Indeed. I think that it's slightly different though. From your description Jocelyn sounds a wild character, yes?"

I nodded.

"I think that she just _couldn't _control her emotions, no matter how she tried. You, though, are just a young witch who hasn't got used to it yet."

It was good to know that I didn't have Jocelyn's freakishly bad temper. Slightly mollified, I relaxed somewhat.

Westley said, "You're tired." It was a statement, not a question. "I'll leave you to sleep." He went to rejoin the others.

He was, as usual, right, I was exhausted, but I couldn't sleep. If you'd just been told you were a naturally talented witch, I don't think you'd sleep either. Insomnia and big news are never a good combination.

I pondered my situation. I forced myself to believe I was a witch; after all, there was no other even-slightly-plausible explanation, but the strange thing was I didn't know why. I had a tiny knowledge of witches from a paranormal documentary I'd watched long ago, so I knew that you could not just 'become' a witch. You had to have potential, potential that sometimes even be latent talent and cause you to have special powers when you did become a witch. Westley clearly thought that my 'future-vision' was a very strong latent talent, but obviously, this was untrue. I must've had witch potential, but I'd never been aware of it. I racked my brains for any hint of paranormal experience. Nothing. I'd have to think about it in more detail.

When dawn rose I hadn't slept a wink.

I listened to the forest waking up around me. Birds started to sing, cheerful and chipper. Swallows dipped and dived around the sky. A slight breeze roused the trees into a whispering, swaying chorus and chased fallen leaves across the field in a cart-wheeling parade.

After a while, I heard someone shifting in the grass. Assuming it was Westley or Buttercup stirring from their sleep, I didn't look around, at least, not until I heard someone swearing profusely in Spanish. Inigo was awake.

Feeling heartened by the beauty of the nature around me, and having regained a bit of self-trust from the relaxing hours of silence, I allowed myself to roll over and look at him.

He was propped up on his elbows, his hair fuzzy and messy after being laid down. Continuing to curse due to the pain, he checked to see if the others were awake. He looked at me and caught my eye. A wide, warm, genuine smile spread across his face.

Without even thinking about it, I got to my feet, went over, and settled myself down next to him.

"Hi," I whispered.

"Hi," he replied. "How are you feeling? You seemed pretty rough last night. Nobody would tell me anything. It was really frustrating."

I grimaced. "Sorry about that. I asked them not to. I didn't really know what was going off myself. I'm a lot better for talking to you though." I smiled.

He smiled back. "The feeling's mutual."

"How is your stomach?"

"On the mend, I do believe," he said. "It hurt a lot when I sat up though. I was bored with lying down. It doesn't hurt so much now, though."

"Liar," I accused jokily. "You're in excruciating pain. I know it."

He sighed. "Shouldn't really try to lie to mystics, should I?"

I shook my head cheerfully. "Lie down. It'll ease the pain."

I assisted him to lie back down in the grass.

"Am I allowed to know what happened to you yet?" He enquired after a few seconds of gazing at me wonderingly.

"I suppose," I said quietly, laying down in the grass beside him and beginning to recount my tale.

He listened intently with the same absorbed expression I've been told I get when reading _The Princess Bride_. When I had finished he said nothing for a while, staring at me with eyes as wide as Jack's.

When he finally spoke, he said, "I shouldn't be surprised, really. Your talents have always run a lot deeper than seeing the future. In fact, that pales in comparison to everything else I've noticed about you."

I looked surprised. His expression changed to mild disbelief. "You didn't know?"

I shook my head.

"How you just always seem to know how I'm feeling. How you look at me like you know everything…sometimes it's like you've read the book of my life." I froze and didn't reply.

"I don't want to be a witch," I eventually whispered.

He turned awkwardly onto his side to face me, hissing in pain. Our eyes met.

"I know you don't," He replied. "But maybe one day you won't feel that way. Maybe one day, you will want it. Maybe you'll like it, love it even. You might be the happiest witch on earth."

"Something in your tone suggests we aren't talking about witchcraft anymore." I didn't break his gaze.

"No. Maybe we're not."

We fell silent. After a while his eyes closed and his breathing levelled. I rested my head against his shoulder, wondering how long this could last. What seemed like ten seconds later, although must have been ten minutes at least, his arm snaked over my body and rested on my back.

"You know I'm not really asleep, don't you?" he whispered in my ear.

"Yes," I replied with a smile. "I know."

**Author's Note: Finally, are they getting closer? Will Fezzik ruin the moment yet again? Will Isabel come to terms with her new-found powers? What of Jocelyn? Stay tuned!**


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